


Safe and Sound

by adistantdreamer



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Fluff, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Negan baby fic, Other, Protective Negan (Walking Dead), Sweet Negan (Walking Dead), Walkers (Walking Dead), the walking dead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12292161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adistantdreamer/pseuds/adistantdreamer
Summary: In the blink of an eye, Negan loses everything. His wife, his job, his home and the world as he knew it. All he has left to cling to is his newborn daughter. Over time, Negan finds out what kind of person he will become in order to protect his baby girl, and keep them both alive.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I've just decided to take the plunge and post the first chapter to my very first fanfic. It involves Negan being Negan, heartbreak and lots of little baby fluff.  
> I know the summary sucks but please just give it a chance :)   
> Read, enjoy and leave me a comment. I'm open to any feedback you have for me, but please be kind!  
> xoxo

“Fuck!” He pressed his face against the cool window pane, mouth slightly agape. He wiped the muggy fog from the window with a quick swipe of his sleeve. “What the fuck is fucking happening?”

_ Bang! Bang! Bang!  _ The sounds of gunfire ricocheted through the hospital, making him duck away from the window instinctively. Negan gave a furtive glance to his wife and baby behind him before another series of gunshots caught his attention. He peered over the windowsill. A line of men dressed in combat gear pointed their rifles at the civilians. They barked orders, but he couldn’t make out anything distinct. The civilians kept shambling towards the soldiers, orders be damned. 

One of the soldiers shot a pale, sickly looking man in the head. Negan’s stomach lurched as the man dropped to the ground, dead. Blood oozed out of the forehead wound onto the dirty floor below.

He pounded his hand on the glass. “Jesus, fuck! They’re shooting innocent fucking people!”

The crowd continued to shuffle towards the soldiers, unfazed by the dead man or the gunfire. As they kept advancing, the soldiers opened rapid fire. Pieces of skull and other viscera exploded everywhere, splattering cars and people alike. Negan put a shaking hand over his mouth, unable to tear his eyes away from the people dropping like flies. Why weren’t they fucking running away? 

A lone woman broke through the line, and grabbed the nearest soldier. Her teeth sunk into the exposed flesh of his neck, like a knife cutting into butter . Thick, dark  blood leaked from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down to his army uniform. His screams carried over the gunfire and into the room, making the hairs on Negan’s arm stand on end.

He backed away from the window as stars burst in front of his eyes, hands threaded behind his head. Fuckfuckfuck. Gripping a chair for balance, he bent at the waist, heaving and gagging. The last time he’d seen that much fucking blood was when one of his dipshit students headbutted another, busting the poor kids fucking lip wide open. Even then it was enough to make his stomach churn.

What the ever loving fuck was going on? For once in his damned life, Negan was glad to be inside the hospital, rather than out of it. 

As soon as he’d caught his breath, he turned back to his wife. “Lucille, baby?” 

His heart dropped at the sight of her ashen skin. All that noise and she was still asleep. She must have been worse off than the doctor said. He stumbled over to her and placed a hand on her forehead. Fortunately, she no longer felt feverish. He bent over and kissed her cheek.

An hour ago, the nurse had promised she would be back as quickly as she could. He couldn’t wait for her any longer.

“I’m going to find out what the fuck is going on.” He gave the baby in her lap no more than a cursory glance as he strode over to the door.

Annoyed, he peered down the hallway towards the nurses station. Both empty. Where the fuck was everybody? He jerked a hand through his hair and slammed the door shut again. Fucking useless nurses. The rustle of the sheets drew his attention and he smiled. Thank fuck, she was finally waking up. For a while there he was worried she was going to….He couldn’t even form the thought in his mind.

He raked a hand back through his already messy hair. Lucille liked to tease him about the stupid hairs that landed on his forehead. 

“Okay, everything is going to fucking be fine.” He didn’t know if he said it for her benefit, the baby’s or his own. 

He glanced back over at the closed door and shook his head. An empty nurses station was a bad fucking omen for sure. He rolled his neck, listening to it pop as he kicked a chair beside his wife’s bed.

He reached over and stroked the delicate skin on her cheek, another smile coming to his lips as her lashes fluttered. The baby in her lap yelped and nestled deeper in her blankets, eyes slowly disappearing behind long dark lashes.

Lucille’s face twitched and from behind the curtain of her thick dark hair, her eyelids fluttered. 

“Baby?”

She let out a low growl that rattled from the back of her throat. The sound sent a chill through his spine and goosebumps popping up all over his hairy forearms.

“Do you need some water?” He cleared his throat several times, choking back the warbling tones, as he snatched up the pink plastic hospital cup. He put the cup to her lips and tried to coax some water into her. With one jerk of her head, she sent the cup skittering across the floor and water sprinkling over the baby’s face and down the front of his shirt.

“What the fuck, Lucille?!” He wiped his hands down his chest as the baby started to whimper.

She didn’t respond, though her mouth hung open and her gaze was fixated on the baby in her lap. The newborn whimpered and stretched her arms above her head. Lucille lowered her head slowly with the apparent intention of giving their baby girl a kiss. He breathed a sigh of momentary relief.  But the more he looked at her, the more the hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. 

“Lu? Baby?” He took a tentative, hopeful step towards her. 

A deep garbled growl came from Lucille’s throat as she inched closer to the baby’s face, teeth bared, sending another jolt of panic straight through him. As he moved around the bed, she gasped and snarled. 

“Lucille?!” 

At the sound of his voice, she glanced up and jerked towards him, rolling off the bed. The sudden movement sent the tiny baby sliding from her lap and towards the edge of the mattress. Negan lunged forward with a startled cry, catching the baby before she fell to the floor. With his arms full of the precious newborn, he wasn’t able to catch Lucille too. She hit the ground with a sickening thud before lifting her head at an odd angle. 

Growling, Lucille reached out for him, clawing at the air and gnashing her teeth. With a startled cry, Negan pressed himself against the wall. He watched as his wife stumbled to her feet, his heart pounding. She staggered, like she was standing for the firs t time, before propelling herself with surprising speed towards him. He dodged to the side, barely missing her grasp. She mirrored every step, until his back pressed against the wall. The baby in his arms began to wail.

“Please fucking stop, Lu. Please baby, it’s me,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes. 

That fucking thing was not his wife. Keeping his back to the wall and Lucille in his sights, he made it to the door. He slipped out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. He scanned the area for help. A surge of hope and relief raced through him when he spotted the doctor kneeling by the nurse’s station. Even from behind, Negan was sure it was him. He stared daggers at the fucking guy yesterday when he had started fucking rummaging around between his wife’s legs to deliver their daughter. 

Now didn’t seem like the best fucking time for him to fucking take a break.

“Hey! Doc! We fucking need some help over here. I don’t know if you’ve fucking noticed but there’s some serious shit happening outside and my fucking wife….Fuck, help us,” Negan called, hurrying towards the hunched over form. As he neared the doctor, a bubble of dread rose in his belly. At first he couldn’t figure out why. When he reached the nurses station, he froze at the sight of a pair of unmoving, pantless legs. The doctor obscured his view of the rest of the body, but from the pool of blood surrounding the two, there was no doubt that person was dead, dead, motherfucking dead. 

“Fucking hell,” he gasped, cupping his baby’s head as she began to whimper again. The doctor’s head snapped round to face him, his gaze milky and expressionless, just like Lucille’s. And just like the crowd outside...God fucking damnit. Negan’s stomach lurched as the doctor shambled to his feet, bloody and broken with a mouth full of...flesh. Negan gagged a couple times as the doctor inched his way towards them. The putrid smell of death wafted over them, making the baby cry and bringing Negan back to his senses. 

“Fuck you. Not my baby girl you fucking shithead,” he said angrily, backing away from the advancing doctor, whose pace quickened with every step Negan took. Whatever the fuck this thing was, he wasn’t fucking letting it near himself nor the baby. He planted his sneaker in the middle of the thing’s--more monster than man---chest and sent it sprawling. He stood frozen in place as the Doctor pushed himself to his feet, undeterred from the boot to his ass. It’s jaws snapped and the clacking of its teeth brought him to his senses. The fucking woman outside bit into an armed soldier like he was a fucking filet mignon. Fuck that.

Panting, he turned on his heel and raced back down the corridor as fast as he could without dropping the baby. He stopped outside of Lucille’s room and stared at the door. That wasn’t her anymore. Whatever it was, it wasn’t her. He heard her scraping and banging against the door from inside the room, desperate to get to them. 

“Fucking eating people…” He held the baby against his heart. As much as he didn’t want it to be true, he couldn’t change what he’d seen. 

Sick people tearing fucking chunks out of other people with no remorse, or visible disgust. He could only assume that’s what she would do now if he went back to her. It would most likely be him and his baby next.

His eyes watered and a single tear slipped down his cheek. He shook his head, resolute. They had to peace the fuck out and fast. Otherwise,they'd be one of _ them. _


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next chapter.
> 
> This is the first chapter I wrote of this story, after it popped into my head one night. The whole scenario played out so clearly in my head that I just had to write it.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and leave kudos!  
> xoxo

Through teary eyes he scanned the cave tucked within the craggy rock wall. More like a crevice than a cave, though just big enough to be a place of shelter from the rain for himself and the burden he carried. The burden wailed in desperation for nourishment he couldn’t provide. 

His child’s every cry poignantly reminded him of how much shit they were in. His daughter would not survive if he didn’t get his shit together. He wasn’t sure if he could even keep himself alive right now, let alone the both of them.

A deep chorus of growls from within the dense trees startled him and he clutched the little bundle to his chest. He glanced over his shoulder and sank to his knees, shuffling through the mud and stuffing the both of them inside. As he bounced her, he pressed his lips to her soaked head, soothing himself as much as her.

His head bumped lightly against the downward slope of the back of the crevice and he settled down, stretching his tired legs in front of him. The dripping ceiling and the damp smell should have bothered him.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Thank fuck.”

The wailing stopped and instead she puffed out little hot breaths against his rain drenched skin.

He tilted his head enough to peer down at her rounded face, speckled with rain water. “You don’t even have a fucking name yet, do you sweetheart?”

Curling his fingers against her dark, velvety hair, he marvelled at the mere sight of her. Every single inch of her was perfection, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. As he shifted her into the crook of his arm she scrunched her nose and curled her upper lip into a grimace. He chuckled under his breath.

Lucille used to give him that look. She’d crinkle her nose whenever she stuck her face in the flowers and the pollen tickled her nose or when she took a whiff of his homemade spaghetti sauce. The realisation that Lucille was gone sent him reeling and gasping for air.

Then the baby opened her eyes, and his already wobbly restraint left him entirely. The last time he had seen those eyes, they had stared lifelessly at him. Now they were his daughter’s eyes. He watched her close them, burying herself into a deep sleep. Those eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Lucille…He perked up, thinking he’d heard her name. Frantically he looked around, but there was nothing in sight. Then he realised it was his own voice. Choking on his sobs, he pressed his nose into the crown of wispy hair.

“Lucille…fucking help me. Tell me what to do. Please, doll. I-I can’t fucking do this,” chest heaving, he sobbed, “I need you, and you fucking left me. You left us.”

His noisy pleas woke the baby again and she curled her fist against his chest, catching the damp fabric of his shirt between her tiny fingers.

“I’m so fucking sorry baby girl. Shit, look at you,” he lay the infant along his thighs, “you’re fucking shaking. You must be fucking freezing.”

Keeping one hand on her chest, he opened the backpack with the other. He paused, gathering his breaths before pulling out a fresh sleeper. With some difficulty, he managed to wrangle her from the sopping wet sleeper and remove her diaper. 

He winced at the sight of her red, raw bottom and thighs. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, aside from pat her dry and put one of the last clean diapers on her. He wrestled her into the new sleeper and slipped her under his shirt.

He held her and rubbed her back, his mind spinning over the list of things Lucille had told him they needed to get before the baby arrived. They had been as prepared as they could have been for the arrival of their first child.

The baby shuffled, whimpering a bit and he shushed her, patting her on the bottom. Remembering that it was sore he quickly withdrew his hand, making a mental note that he needed diaper rash cream. He didn’t want her to be in pain. That shit just would not fly.

Her whimpers quickly escalated into her signature piercing cry. He winced, hoping the dead wouldn’t find them. They always seemed to find them somehow, no matter how careful he was.

“Shit,” Negan mumbled, feeling the baby’s head nuzzle firmly against his bare chest. He peered beneath the neckline of his shirt and frowned when he saw her lips pursed as she turned her head towards him. It wasn’t the first time she had done this since he had run. Once the formula had run out, the only way he had to calm her when she did this was to gently put his finger in her mouth for her to suckle on. It seemed to placate her for a short while, until she realised that it was not satisfying the hunger in her little belly.

“It’ll be ok baby girl. We’ll go find some formula from fucking somewhere tomorrow…when it’s safer to move,” Negan whispered, ghosting his fingers over the back of her head as she continued to suckle at his finger with surprising strength.

Peering towards the entrance to the small space, it was clear that it was too late to try and move with the baby now. The dead seemed to move more in the dark and he wouldn’t be able to see them as well. With his finger still in the baby’s mouth, Negan closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

Neither slept well that night. His back ached and she woke regularly to remind him of her hunger. Her limp form made his breath catch in his chest. She needed food soon. Otherwise the dead would be the least of his problems.

As the sun rose, Negan changed her diaper, taking care to ensure that her bottom was dry. He tucked her beneath his shirt and he shuffled back out of the cave. He scanned the area warily before stepping back out into the forest.

Every snap of a twig and chirp of a bird made his head snap round in sheer panic. He clutched the baby tighter to his chest, despite her loud protests. The warm sun dappled through the leaves overhead, and Negan stumbled along the path that the light created on the floor. It provided him with his only sense of direction.

It didn’t stop him from stumbling several times on loose tree roots or rocks out of his sight, almost sending his hulking figure sprawling across the mulchy forest floor. He knew he would probably crush the baby if he fell on her, so he decided to take his time as long as it was quiet. Cursing beneath his breath, Negan stepped up onto the bark of a large fallen tree, hoping the height would allow him to see far enough to scope out an exit from the dense copse of trees.

After a few moments of attempting to peer into the distance and pretending like he knew what the fuck he was looking for, Negan stepped back down and continued in the same direction. His heart felt as heavy as his body, but the weight of the baby in his arms reminded him of his purpose. She was his sole motivation.

By the time he wandered back out of the trees, she was sleeping once more, sucking on her own hand. Impressed at her ability to self-soothe, Negan looked up and his gaze fell upon a lone car in the middle of the road.

Smoke billowed from under the hood of the mini-van. Negan’s stomach flipped at the sight of the splatters of viscous blood, and God knows what else, on the inside of the windows, obscuring his view. He crept forward, searching for any movement inside the car. He rocked from side to side, unconsciously trying to keep the baby calm, as he debated whether or not the risk was worth the pay out.

On one hand, they both were desperate. On the other, he had no way to defend them both. He glanced down at his lethargic baby girl, drowsily sucking on her fingers, and his mind was made up.

They had no choice.

Negan cupped his hand against the glass, and peered through the gore. The car was empty, save for an open suitcase, overflowing with clothes on the back seat. Relieved, her opened the back door of the car and shifted the baby to one arm while he rifled through the clothes. Most of them were far too small for him, but he pulled out a nice soft scarf, remembering Lucille making all of those fancy scarves of hers into slings for the baby whilst she was still pregnant.

Perhaps, with a few adjustments, he could fashion one too. He placed the baby down on the back seat and wound the long piece of blue fabric round his torso and shoulders, knotting it at his hip. The layers of the scarf then formed a little pouch against Negan’s chest. He shushed her as he slipped her inside the pouch. She seemed happy enough with the soft fabric cocooning her and containing her daddy’s body heat.

“Would you fuckin’ look at that kid? Your dad is doing something right for once,” Negan said, quite pleased with his handiwork. Surprised at his own words, Negan realised that was the first time he had ever referred to himself as her father. Negan had always jokingly called Lucille “a fucking hot mama” whilst she was pregnant, mostly because it made her blush beautifully. She loved the idea of being a mother. However he had never seen himself as a father before.

“The baby” had just been a concept, only evidenced by Lucille’s mood swings and growing belly. Until the moment the baby was placed in his arms, wailing and squirming, he hadn’t even believed that she was real. Now he couldn’t imagine her not being with him. The baby was all he had left. Negan buried his nose in her soft hair, inhaling her sweet, powdery scent before he pressed his lips to her.

As he glanced back up, a glint of silver caught his eye from under the driver’s seat. He reached down and grabbed at it, grinning when he felt the weight of a handgun in his palm. His grin widened when he checked the chamber and found it fully loaded. Luckily for him, whoever it belonged to never got the chance to use it. Unlucky bastards. Negan stood upright and tucked the gun into his belt.

“That’ll do quite fucking nicely, won’t it baby girl? Let’s get out of here,” he said, feeling a little more comfortable about carting her around now she was secure against him and he had a weapon to protect her. There was no way he would drive the piece of shit car however. Not with the baby in tow. So he continued on down the road, hoping for a solution to appear like a mirage.


	3. Three

At first glance, the store seemed untouched from the outside. The windows and door were intact, and there was no sign of the dead.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Negan asked the baby, who snoozed open-mouthed against his chest. He was aware that she had actually been asleep for hours, and hadn’t even been waking, instead letting out feeble whimpers that made his heart clench painfully with guilt and mild panic.

“Gonna fucking get you what you need. I promise. This shithole is going to be the place. I can feel it,” he said in a determined tone, pressing against the frame of the door. Surprisingly it was unlocked and he stepped inside the cool, dark interior. Negan made sure to check down every single aisle, feeling relieved when there wasn’t a sign of any life, or the dead.

That relief only multiplied when he spotted the shelves full of baby products. Everything he needed was right in front of him and he felt as if he could weep.

“We hit the fucking jackpot cutie,” he grinned and rubbed his hands together gleefully. Snatching a baby bag from one of the lower shelves, he began stuffing everything he could into it until it was bulging at the seams. He had cans of formula, bottles, diapers, rash cream, bibs, socks, pacifiers and even a brand new sling with fancy fucking adjustable buckles and padding to keep her comfortable.

Once he was happy that he had everything she needed, Negan grabbed a few bottles of water from the clearly out of order fridge. He then lay out a blanket on the floor and took the baby from her sling for the first time all day. She stretched and let out a groan as he lay her on the blanket, gently tucking the edges around her to keep her warm.

“Dinner time at last sweetheart,” he laughed, taking one of the cans of formula and squinting in the low light as he studied the small printed instructions on the side. He filled the bottle with the recommended amount of lukewarm water and then topped it up with a scoop of the milky powder.

“Smells like fucking cardboard and it’s not warm,” he murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on her as he shook the bottle to mix the formula thoroughly, “hopefully it’ll sort you out kid.”

With a deep sense of relief and satisfaction, he scooped her into the crook of his right arm, and gently popped the teat of the bottle between her pouty little lips. Initially she seemed confused, but her instincts quickly kicked in and before long she had gulped down most of the tepid milk. She only paused when Negan removed the teat from her mouth to give her a chance to breathe through her mouth again.

“There we go baby girl. Is that tummy full of fucking milk now?” He asked softly, watching her eyes flutter closed once more. Already, the colour seemed to be returning to her cheeks and her chubby hands were clenching into fists again, opposed to her lethargic state just moments before. Negan shoved the bottle back into the bag of baby stuff and then rested his head back against the shelves behind him. For the first time, he finally felt as though they might be ok.

Hours later, something prodded his shoulder roughly, rousing Negan from his first decent night of sleep in a while.

“Hey,” a gruff voice spoke as his eyes blinked open, adjusting to the lack of light in the room.

The first thing he saw was the barrel of a shotgun only inches from his face. Peering down, he realised the baby was still asleep, although she was obscured from the intruder’s view by the sling she was in. Rage filled his chest as he registered the proximity of the weapon to his fragile baby girl.

“Fucking move that thing away from my kid’s head, before I shove it up your ass,” Negan growled, his lip curling back like a feral animal.

The elderly man lowered his gun and took in the sight of the bag full of baby supplies. Then his gaze landed on the tiny dark head of the infant against Negan’s chest.

“I-I’m so sorry,” the man stammered, “please forgive me. I thought you were just stealing.”  
“We had fucking nothing,” Negan said, shoving the used bottle into the bag and zipping it up again while cradling the baby against his chest with his free hand, “This place had the shit we needed.”

The man nodded, intimidated, “where are you staying with her?”

“On this fucking floor right now. I don’t have a plan,” Negan admitted gruffly, rubbing the baby’s back as he stood. He didn’t like to admit to a stranger that he was unsure of where to take his newborn daughter to protect her. He already felt inadequate enough.

“My wife and I live nearby. It’s been safe from all of this so far. If you would like to bring her there until you work out your plan, you’re more than welcome. My wife would love to have a visitor, I’m sure,” he said with a soft smile, eager to redeem himself for his actions towards the small family.

Negan nodded gratefully and stuck his hand out, “thank you. Negan.”

“Morty,” the man replied, placing his trembling hand inside Negan’s large one and giving it a firm shake.

With the laden bags in tow, Negan followed Morty out to the front of the store, where an old pickup truck sat alongside the road. Morty helped him sling the bags of supplies into the front seat before they climbed inside and set off. The trio rode in a comfortable silence, and Negan took the brief opportunity to try and relax.

While the baby slept, he watched the countryside speed by in blurs of deep greens, browns and yellows. He grimaced when he caught sight of a shambling form in one of the corn fields, a ghastly silhouette trying to reach the road. Poor fucking bastard.

Negan was startled from the peace when the baby began squirming in his arms, letting out whimpers which quickly became loud, heartbreaking wails that echoed through the car. He watched in panic as the baby’s face flushed and her mouth opened so wide he could see her pink gums and the back of her throat.

“Is she ok?” Morty asked warily, peering over at the clearly distressed baby in concern.

“I-I don’t fucking know. I just fucking fed her. The only time she cried before was because she was fucking hungry. Fuck,” Negan snapped, laying the baby across his knees, his hands hovering over her uncertainly. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

Was she sick? Going to fucking throw up? Just fussy? He had no idea.

Gently taking her into his arms again, he positioned her against his chest with her head resting over his heart. It seemed to calm her when she could hear his heartbeat before. That was the first time it didn’t work.

“God fucking damn it,” Negan swore, feeling tears of frustration fill his eyes, “sweetheart fucking please give me fucking break. I can’t do any fucking more right now.”

“Try not to worry yourself,” Morty said, rubbing the back of his own neck, “Our youngest used to cry from dawn til dusk when she was your little one’s age. All day and all night long. Was perfectly healthy, mind you, but just wanted to be heard I reckon. She grew out of it after a few months.”

“How far are we?” Negan asked gruffly, gently bouncing the baby in his arms while patting her bottom to try and soothe her. If anything her cries were just getting louder. Negan lifted her up to his nose and took a deep inhale. All he could smell was his own lingering cologne and her sweet powdery scent. Her diaper was clean, and he doubted her rash could be causing her that much pain suddenly.

Resigning himself sadly to not being able to help her, he continued to soothe her as best as he knew how until they reached the house.

The shadowed figure of a short, plump woman came into view on the wrap-around porch when they finally got to the farmhouse. Morty took Negan’s bags, aware that the younger man was becoming more stressed due to his daughter’s incessant crying for the duration of the journey.

Negan stepped out of the car and followed Morty up the steps to the porch. The woman stood with her hands on her hips though her expression soon softened when she heard and saw the newborn in the stranger’s arms.

Morty gave his wife a kiss on the cheek and apologised for worrying her by being out so long, “this is Negan. I found him in the store with his little one and offered them a place to stay until they get on their feet.”

“Let’s get you inside dear,” Velma said with a soft smile that reminded Negan of his mother.

Negan mumbled a thank you and kissed the baby’s head as the couple led him inside the warm house. The fire was roaring in the front room, and Velma situated him on the flowery couch in front of it, allowing him to warm up properly for the first time in days.

“Has she been burped?” Velma queried, wincing at the sound of the little girl’s hoarse throat from her continued crying.

Negan frowned at her, and shook his head, “I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.”

Velma raised her eyebrows at the crass younger man sitting on her sofa, “a little less of that language in my home, thank you. Babies as small as her aren’t able to bring up their own gas just yet so she’ll need a little coaxing. Firm rubs and pats on her back should do the trick.”

Negan moved his hand up from her bottom and began passing his hand up and down the baby’s back in short, firm strokes. Her cries and restless squirming continued until finally she let out a loud burp right against his shoulder, followed by a trickle of milky spit up which soaked a spot on his shirt.

“All that fucking noise, just for that?” Negan frowned at his daughter, displeased with her worrying him over something so trivial but also feeling dumb as fuck for not knowing how to solve something so basic.

Velma smiled kindly, “trapped wind can cause all sorts of discomfort for little ones. She is still awfully tiny too. How old is she?”

“Three days,” Negan said gruffly. In a silent apology he pressed his lips to his little girl’s forehead.

“Does she have a name?” Velma continued with a raised eyebrow at him.

Negan lifted his gaze to meet the elderly woman’s and shook his head, “no. No she doesn’t yet.”

Velma’s hand gently patted Negan’s knee as she struggled to conceal her shock and worry for the pair, “well, as Morty said before. You’re more than welcome to stay here as long as you need to with her. We’ve plenty of spare bedrooms and we just rattle around in this big house by ourselves.”

“Thank you,” Negan said, rubbing his hand over his tired eyes. His stomach decided to let out an embarrassing growl, and his cheeks flushed.

Velma smiled at him, “I made some fresh vegetable soup and bread this afternoon. Would you like some?”

The thought of a hot home cooked meal caused Negan’s stomach to rumble again. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had eaten properly.

“I’ll be right back dear. Make yourself comfortable,” Velma said warmly, easing herself to her feet before she padded out of the lounge. Morty came into the room then, and sank into the threadbare armchair beside the fire. He leant over and prodded the logs inside the fire with a poker, causing cinders to churn around in the hearth, before he settled back with a sigh of exhaustion.

“Feel free to lay her down beside you. She’s not going anywhere and she’s safe here,” Morty grunted, glancing over at Negan who was still clutching his daughter protectively to his chest.

Negan let out a sigh and gently lay the baby down along the soft couch cushion, before he took hold of her little hand. Her tiny fingers instinctively curled around one of his own, gripping it tightly. The tiny gesture made his heart leap and his throat tighten with emotion. He couldn’t bring himself to take his hands from her.

Negan watched Morty doze in his chair, clearly exhausted. He couldn’t imagine ever being that age, though the couple seemed happy and comfortable in their home. Negan knew he would trade almost anything for the chance to have grown old with Lucille. Once upon a time he had imagined them sat side by side, grey-haired and frail, on a porch like the one at this house, watching their grandchildren chasing their dog around the front yard. Now, if he even made it to that age, he’d be sat alone.

“Dinner is served young man. Tuck in,” Velma said, setting a tray onto the coffee table in front of the sofa. It was laden with a big bowl of fragrant soup, several thick slices of bread and butter, and a tall glass of lemonade. Negan gently wiggled his finger from the baby’s surprisingly strong grip, and turned to Velma.

“Thank you,” he said, firstly lifting the glass and taking a deep refreshing drink. He finished the sweet lemonade in moments before he picked up the bowl of soup and began digging in.

The taste of fresh vegetables and well-seasoned stock was heavenly, and immediately sated the gnawing hunger in his belly.

“You’ve done a great job with her,” Velma said, glancing over at the finally peaceful newborn, “keeping her safe with all this nonsense happening. She’s lucky to have a daddy like you.”

Negan glanced up at Velma, and opened his mouth to speak, but then returned to his food, scraping the last of the soup from the bowl. He set the bowl down before picking up a chunk of the bread and biting into it. He took a moment to place his free hand back onto the baby’s belly, feeling it rise and fall with her soft breathing.

“She looks just like you,” Velma remarked.

“Poor fucking kid,” Negan grumbled.

Velma shook her head with a lilting chuckle, “she’s beautiful. Really. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Negan knew that she was beautiful. She was the most fucking perfect thing he had ever laid his eyes on. A little clone of her mother already, and bound to break hearts someday. It almost destroyed him to even think that he’d never see Lucille holding her little mini-me, and that the baby would never inherit her mother’s mannerisms or way of speaking. She was doomed to be a heavy handed, potty-mouthed little cherub for the rest of her days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe 100 people have read this story! Seriously, thank you so so much if you're one of these people...which if you're reading this you obviously are!  
> Lots of love to you & don't forget to let me know your thoughts and anything particular you would like to see.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four is here!  
> I'm not so happy with how this one turned out, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!  
> As always leave me your thoughts, kudos and any suggestions for Negan and baby's future escapades. If there's anything you'd like to see in particular I'll give it some thought and see if I can slot it in somewhere :)  
> xoxo

Negan peered down at the baby. She squirmed on the fluffy bath towel on the floor, curling her fingers and toes against the cold. Her soft skin was veiny and ever so slightly translucent, except for the strange looking umbilical cord stump still clamped with a plastic yellow clip from the hospital.

The sight reminded him of the sweet, quiet moments just after she was born. While the nurses tended to Lucille, he had ventured over to the corner of the room, where the baby was being weighed and checked over. By that time, she had stopped her incessant squawking, and was surveying the area with dark, ever so slightly open eyes as the nurses shifted and poked at her naked body to check that she was healthy. Once she had been declared in good health, the nurse swaddled her up and handed her to Negan for the first time. He stood frozen for a moment, the baby snuggled in his muscular arms before her voice made him turn towards the bed.

“Negan…”

With a shake of his head to stop the onslaught of memories, Negan shoved his hand into the tub of lukewarm water and fished out the soft sponge inside. He wrung it out firmly over the tub before hesitating.

“She’ll get wet,” he said moronically, staring down at his daughter with unmasked concern.

Velma, observing from the doorway, chuckled kindly, “well of course she will. She won’t melt away into nothing. She may not enjoy it much at first though.”

Negan inhaled deeply, before lowering the soft sponge to the baby’s right arm. Immediately she tensed, opening her mouth to let out a shrill cry.

Negan immediately dropped the sponge onto the towel and scooped her up, apologising profusely.

“Fuck! I’m sorry baby. Daddy’s fucking sorry. I’ve got you. I’m fucking sorry,” Negan rambled, cradling her tiny head against his chest.

Velma, touched by his sensitivity to his daughter, knelt down beside him with some difficulty.

“Honey, she’s absolutely fine. It’s just the shock of the water at first. It’s not hot enough to hurt her,” she soothed, settling onto her creaking knees, “just try again. She needs her first bath. It’ll soothe that rash of hers.”

Negan sighed and eyed the old woman warily before laying the unhappy baby back down. She let out another shrill cry, tensing her limbs as Negan picked up the sponge once more. He gently brought the sponge to her soft skin once more, preparing himself for the heart wrenching sound of her cries.

She surprised him though when she let out a hiccup followed by soft coos as he gently soothed her skin with the warm water.

Negan felt tears come to his eyes as he realised that Lucille should be doing this. He should have been a bystander. He should have been taking pictures of the special moment from above his two girls in their cosy little bathroom at home, asking Lucille to hold the baby up to the camera and give him a big fucking smile. He knew she would have obliged.

“What happened to her?” Velma asked very quietly, noticing Negan’s tears. She could only imagine the pain he was feeling. The wedding band on his finger and his distant gaze while holding the newborn baby clearly showed the recent loss in his life.

He shook his head and wrung the sponge out over the tub before soaking it with fresh soapy water again.

“I…Fuck,” he choked, staring intently at the baby as she kicked against his knees, gazing around with big blue eyes.

“A fever or a fucking infection or something. She lost a lot of blood during labour so they kept us in after she was born, then she just got weaker. Th-the doctors couldn’t help once the hospital got overrun and she turned into one of those things. She almost hurt the baby…fuck,” he swore, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

He couldn’t believe he was pouring his heart out to the woman beside him. He didn’t know her, and she most certainly didn’t know him, but he trusted her.

“She’d be proud of you,” Velma said softly, placing her frail hand on Negan’s shoulder. Negan shook his head in disdain.

“I have no idea what to do without her. She knew what to do with this kid. She knew her, knew what she was going to need. I don’t. I spent all of Lucille’s pregnancy avoiding it as much as possible - out at bars or sports practices,” Negan said in a brittle voice, “I was a fucking shitty husband, and a shitty father by fucking extension.”

“She’s still with you honey,” Velma soothed, “with you both. She’ll steer you in the right direction. Now is your chance to redeem yourself.”

Negan shook his head, his thoughts clouded with sickening images of Lucille locked inside her hospital room, alone and ravenous, “I didn’t deserve either of them. Lu should be here with her, and I should be in that room at the fucking hospital.”

“You can’t think like that,” Velma whispered, her own voice thick and croaky with tears as she stared at the broken man, “you’re here for a reason. To keep that little girl alive. She needs you now Negan. I won’t have you giving up on her. Now wrap her up, and we’ll get her settled down for bed. Together.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A short while after pouring his heart out to Velma, he had dressed the baby in a clean, warm sleeper and given her another bottle of milk. After burping her with Velma’s encouragement and changing her diaper, Morty showed him to the guest room.

It was decorated plainly, but it was comfortable, with cornflower blue highlighting the curtains and bedspread amongst the light wood furniture. The mere thought of sleeping in a real bed with a mattress and sheets made his muscles ache needily. He lay the baby across the end of the bed, stripping down to his underwear. Velma had assured him that he was welcome to use the shower to freshen up, but he was too exhausted to even contemplate it that night. Instead, he gathered up several blankets, rolling and shifting them until they formed a plush nest right in the middle of the bed, as close to the pillows as possible.

Once he was satisfied she was going to be comfortable and close enough to him, Negan gently lay the baby in the nest. He smiled when she grunted, her lips smacking together momentarily before she settled down, prompting him to lay down beside her beneath the sheets. He reached over and took her tiny hand into his own, and fell asleep with her fingers curled around his.

The baby was fussy for the first few days at the farmhouse. She seemed unnerved by Morty and Velma’s unfamiliar voices, and was particularly jumpy when the new people came nearby. Aside from that Negan was relieved that she seemed to be putting on weight at last. She had chubby rosy cheeks, and her once scrawny, bird-like legs and arms were beginning to fill out too.

Negan kept her close to him at all times, though he eventually let Velma hold her for short periods of time when he ate or needed to shower. He came downstairs after showering one day to see Velma stood by the large bay window, cradling the baby and humming softly to her. He leant against the doorframe, amazed by the kindness of a complete stranger.

Velma’s head lifted and she smiled at him then the baby again, “Oh look sweetheart. Your daddy is back now.”

Negan walked over and Velma handed the baby to him. He held her against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he rubbed his palm over her back.

“You’re fucking tired kid. Wish you’d nap,” he murmured, watching the baby’s lashes flutter for a moment before she stubbornly stared at him with big blue watery eyes.

He felt the uneasy sinking in his stomach he always got when someone was staring at him. He used to get it during inspections while he was coaching, or when Lucille would watch him getting ready for bed after a drunken night at a bar.

Sure enough, Velma was watching, though she was giving him a soft smile as she lowered herself into the plush floral armchair by the warmth of the fire.

“Thanks for watching bug for me,” he murmured, catching her gaze while shifting from foot to foot to soothe the baby.

“Any time,” Velma waved a wrinkled hand at him and shook her head, “she’s a little angel. No trouble at all.”

Negan sighed and settled down onto the couch, laying the baby on his chest in the hope that she would fall asleep while he spoke.

“Velma…I-I know I’m a bad man, and I’ve never been good at shit like this. I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Fuck, you’ve raised your kids, and now you’re helping me raise mine, and I’m a complete stranger. I’ll never be able to explain just how grateful I am,” Negan spoke lowly, watching the elderly woman closely as she continued to give him that same smile that he couldn’t quite read, “If there’s anything I can do to repay you, please, just tell me.”

“Well, there might be one thing…” Velma said with a twinkle in her eye.

Negan sat up, jostling the grouchy infant and causing her to mewl unhappily at him.

”What?”

“Give that beautiful little girl a name.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Negan lay next to the baby on their bed, admiring her long dark lashes that rested against her rosy cheeks. She looked just like her mother, especially when she was sleeping.

He mulled over what Velma had asked of him all day long, trying to remember the list of names he and Lucille had thought of whilst she was pregnant.

Always a heated debate, with him preferring stronger sounding names, whereas Lucille loved flowery names that were never fucking pronounced like they were spelled. He argued that their daughter would be forever correcting people on how to pronounce her name properly once they saw it written down, but he supposed that wouldn’t be an issue any more. Now the world had gone to shit, his baby girl’s name wouldn’t be called from a class list at school, or at her graduation ceremony, or when she went to her first job interview.

As much as he begrudged it, only one name seemed to fit. One of Lucille’s favourite dainty little girl’s names echoed in his mind in her lilting voice all day.

He had absolutely hated it when he first saw it scrawled on the list of baby names taped to their fridge. He immediately called Lucille over and vetoed it, though his heart sunk a little when he saw the thinly-veiled disappointment in her eyes. He tried to love it for her, but it just never stuck for him. Lucille eventually managed to get him to agree to it for a middle name for their baby girl, even though she adored it so much.

When the baby was born after Lucille’s arduous labour, and she was placed in her arms, Negan heard her whispering to their daughter using the name.

That’s when he knew he had to use it, for Lucille.

Eventually, after he was sure his mind was made up, he carried his no longer nameless baby down the stairs and stood nervously in front of the strangers who had opened up their home to him.

“So…?” Velma asked expectantly, a smile playing on her lips.

Negan laughed at her lightly, smoothing down the baby’s hair. The old bird knows exactly what I’m about to tell them.

“Isla.”

The knowing glance, and smile of approval on Morty and Velma’s faces were enough to let him know he’d made the right choice.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much filler, with lots and lots of adorable, overprotective Negan. I promise things will get more interesting soon! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, lovelies.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, as always.
> 
> xoxo

Chapter Five

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Negan let out a laugh of disbelief. Even after hours of reinforcing the little picket fence surrounding the farmhouse, Morty was still going, despite his age and clear exhaustion. The pair had been nailing thicker wood to the inside of the fences, along with support beams to prevent any stray walkers breaking down the old fencing.

“No time to rest, kid,” Morty had huffed when Negan had urged him to take a rest, “Can do that when I’m dead and I’m damn sure I’m not yet.”

Negan smiled at the older man before he glanced back over his shoulder to the porch. Wrapped up warm in blankets and cosy knitted clothes, Isla was cradled in Velma’s arms. A tattered book of nursery rhymes was in the elderly woman’s free hand. Negan had found it in a nearby house that he had scavenged, and Negan could see Velma’s mouth move as she cooed the tales to the infant.

Shoving his cold hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, Negan sauntered toward the porch. He watched as Velma frowned, closing the book of nursery rhymes and tucking it beside her hip before gently stroking Isla’s cheek, cooing something to the baby.

“You ok there with her, Velm?” he called out.

Brow furrowed in concern, Velma raised her hand to wave Negan over, still gently rocking the restless and bundled up baby in her care.

Negan hopped up the steps of the porch, hearing them creak beneath his weight as he did so. With three hearty home cooked meals a day he had embarrassingly had put on the weight he had lost and more besides since moving in with Velma and Morty.

Once he hit the top step, Isla’s feeble whimpers reached his ears, and they were such a worrying contrast to her usual ear splitting crying.

“Fuck, is my girl all right?” Negan asked worriedly, reaching out for her.

Isla began to cry as Negan took her from Velma, keeping the thick blush-coloured blanket wrapped round her tiny body. He peered down at her, noting her snuffles, rosy cheeks and nose, and croaky breathing. His heart ached for his little girl. She had been tearful all morning, and had barely taken any of her milk all day.

“Looks like a cold, the poor little darling. We should probably get her inside by the fire to help her break the fever,” Velma suggested, lifting herself from the bench with a groan.

Negan’s heart dropped at the thought of Isla being sick, “Is she gonna be fucking ok? She’s still so small.”

Velma smiled, and rubbed his arm reassuringly, “she’ll be absolutely fine dear. Let’s just get inside and get her cosy hm?”

~

“Come on Isla-bug,” Negan groaned desperately, trying to coax the teat of the bottle between Isla’s lips as she howled at him, “you need to eat baby girl. Gotta keep your fuckin’ strength up.”

Isla sobbed some more, tears and snot running down her face as her tongue adamantly pushed back against the teat of the bottle and she tried to turn her head away. Negan shook his head in frustration, placing the bottle down on the coffee table and shifting her up against his shoulder.

“All right bug. I won’t fucking make you have it,” Negan murmured softly against the side of her head, his lips brushing against her feather-soft dark hair, “Daddy’s got you. Shhh, baby girl.”

Isla’s cries of discomfort eventually softened to gentle whimpers, leaving Negan with a ringing in his ears and a tear-soaked spot on his shirt.

Gathering up Isla’s blanket, Negan leant back into the softness of the armchair and draped it over Isla. He ran his fingers through the silky, ever-lengthening curls at the nape of her neck. 

“You’re going to be as right as fucking rain soon sweetheart,” he passed his hand over the small expanse of her back as he spoke, “Daddy’s going to scare that fucking shitty, snotty cold of yours away, as well as those fucking dead fucks out there.”

Isla whimpered, smacking her fist against against Negan’s chest as she snuffled pitifully. Despite feeling so unwell, her tiny hands packed a surprising punch that made Negan laugh in surprise.

“Just like your mommy,” he chuckled, “you inherited all that fucking sass from her, Isla-bug.”

Into the evening, Isla became increasingly fussy, crying most of the time and refusing each bottle Negan tried to tempt her with. By the late evening he was convinced she didn’t even know what she wanted anymore. Around dinner time, he attempted to pass Isla to Velma so he could eat something himself, but she howled so loudly that he simply had to have her back. Her cries were breaking his heart.

Not wanting to disturb the entirety of Morty and Velma’s evening with Isla’s incessant sobbing, Negan retreated to the sanctuary of their secluded little bedroom which was feeling more and more like home with every day that passed.

His boots and leather jacket now sat by the door, and the closet was filled with clothes that both fit him and suited his style. Isla also had her own bassinet that rested on a stand right beside the bed, though Negan often lifted her from it in the night to have her sleep chest-to-chest with him. He thought that they both slept more soundly in each other’s arms.

With that in mind, Negan settled Isla for bed on his bare chest, listening to the wind howling outside the windows.

“So, what the fuck do we do now bug?” he queried, rubbing her tiny back which was rattling with each crackly breath she took, “it’s way past your bedtime, and daddy needs his fucking beauty sleep too.”

Isla grunted in reply, her big blue eyes peering up at him in the low light of the room. Negan liked to keep the room dark in the evenings to ensure that Isla had a sense that it was time for bed, no matter how small she was.

“How the fuck about this huh? Once upon a time….shit,” Negan laughed lowly at his own words. He couldn’t believe what was coming out of his own mouth, but Isla enjoyed the deep timbre of his voice, and he really needed her to sleep.

“Once upon a time, there was a handsome, strong prince named Negan. He loved his job, teaching little fuckers how to um…joust and sword-fight before becoming knights. One thing was definitely missing though. He was lonely, and nobody seemed to be enough to fucking fix that for him. One day, he was strolling through the kingdom, women swooning over him as usual, when his best friend suggested he should go on a blind date with a princess from a nearby…kingdom,” Negan began, his voice low and rumbling in his chest as he watched Isla blink back at him, completely mesmerised between sniffles.

“Well, the second he laid eyes on Princess Lucille, he fucking knew she was the one. She was funny, smart, sassy and fucking beautiful. Creamy porcelain skin that flushed a gorgeous fucking pink colour, and dark, curly hair that she hated but Prince Negan fucking adored. She kept Prince Negan in line, that’s for fucking sure. They got married and eventually found out they were expecting their own little one - a brand new princess. Princess Lucille was so fucking excited to meet her baby girl…”

Welling up at his own tale, he pressed his lips to Isla’s clammy forehead in order to compose himself, “Fucking fuck. Story-time is over kiddo. Daddy can’t finish this one tonight.”

He tilted his head down to look at Isla and grinned when he saw her eyes were closed, and her breathing calmer than it had been all day. Only then did the tears finally fall down his cheeks, as the absence of Lucille struck him again and again like an incessant tidal wave.

The pain, when it struck like that, was unbearable. He grunted through his tears, trying to fight the sensation of his heart being crushed in a vice at the thought of her only being in their daughter’s life through his whimsical fairy stories that did not give her justice. He’d never be able to explain to Isla how much her mother loved her, and how excited she had been to meet her. He’d never be able to recreate the fire she got in her eyes when she was cross, or the lilting melody of her laugh.

“I need to get fucking better at telling bedtime stories, bug,” he sobbed, pressing his lips to the top of Isla’s head and letting his tears dampen her hair.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! As always, please leave feedback if possible so I can make these chapters better for you all.  
> Thank you to everyone who has read, commented and left kudos so far. It means the world to me that people actually read this and seem to enjoy it.  
> If you have any comments, queries or ideas for future chapters, please message me.  
> xoxo

Barely able to open his eyes from exhaustion, Negan sat up in the darkness and leant over to the bassinet right beside him. He scooped up Isla before she could turn her quiet whimpers into piercing screams and cradled her to him as he got to his feet.

Icy cool air  immediately hit his bare shins and arms when he left the warmth of his bed. Winter had arrived, and Negan knew it would bring challenges that they were trying hard to tackle as early as they could. Velma had already knitted Isla lots of warmer clothes, and Morty and Negan were trying to stockpile as much formula and diapers as possible whenever they ventured away from the farm into the neighboring towns.

Trying to distance himself from the unpleasant thought of leaving Isla to go on another scavenging run with Morty that afternoon, he instead focused on the mewling little girl in his arms. Negan took Isla over to the dresser and flicked on the lamp beside it. Now he could see her in the dim light, he smiled and kissed her forehead softly.

“Good mornin’ baby girl,” he murmured, laying her on the padded changing mat atop the piece of furniture. Isla snuffled and kicked her legs at him as he shimmied her out of her sleeper.

One wet diaper later, he had dressed her in a flowery dress, leggings, warm socks and one of the cardigans Velma had knitted when they had first arrived at the farmhouse. The leggings were still a little big for her, but he rolled them up at the ankles to make do. After all, he couldn’t afford to be fucking picky over baby clothes, but the kid looked pretty fucking presentable if he did say so himself.

“Fuckin’ proud of you, my little Isla-bug. You only woke daddy once last night. Aren’t you a good girl?” he murmured, laying her back down on the bed, “Lord knows your old man needs his fucking beauty sleep.”

Isla huffed at being set down, but Negan dressed quickly and had her back in his arms before she could kick up much of a fuss over it. Still recovering from her flu, she was still chesty most of the time, and particularly grumpy.

Isla nuzzled her nose into the thin red scarf wound round his neck as Negan descended the stairs with her. Immediately, the silence registered, and he paused on the stairs, frowning.

Usually he would hear the crackle of the fire, or the sound of Velma pottering around the kitchen making breakfast, but not that morning. Negan shook his head and continued slowly, watching each step he took down the stairs. He was always wary of carrying Isla down them, fearing that he’d stumble and drop her or land on her with his fucking huge body.

His foot hit a particularly old step at the bottom of the staircase and a loud creak resonated through the house. Negan released a sigh of relief when he spotted the back of Velma’s head over the back of the couch.

“Mornin’ Velma,” he said gruffly, setting Isla down in the bassinet by the armchair he often fed her in, before he went to start up the fire, “it’s as cold as shit in here woman. Why isn’t this goin’ already huh?”

Despite his teasing, there was no reply, and Negan felt his heart begin to pound heavily. Something is not fucking right. Stomach knotted, he turned to face the sofa Velma was on.

Everything was red.

Her white nightgown. The upholstery of the sofa. The cushions and knitted throw blanket he and Isla napped with almost daily. Most sickeningly, the deepest of reds coated Velma’s neck, which had been torn into viciously. Her head lolled to the opposite side of the wound, almost dismembered due to the depth of it. The thought of even looking at her face was too much to bear. Negan felt his stomach heave and he turned to vomit into the fireplace.

“Fuck, Velma,” he panted, wiping his still salivating mouth on his sleeve once his stomach had stopped convulsing, “Fuck. What the fuck?”

Cautiously, he moved round the sofa, keeping his gaze fixed on Velma’s body. Even as he lifted Isla into his arms, he watched her.

The injury to her clearly visible spinal cord seemed to be too severe to turn her into one of the biters, but he wasn’t taking any chances. A biter was in the house, and their safe-haven was no longer worthy of that name.

Letting his tears christen the top of Isla’s head, he inched closer and took the stained blanket in his free hand. He raised it over Velma’s neck and head until she was draped from head to toe in the soft blue blanket she had once knitted.

Realising he was yet to see Morty, his heart began to race. He could only hope that the elderly man had gone out that morning, or that he was hiding somewhere in the house from the threat of a stray biter that had wandered in that morning.

Deep down, Negan knew what he was going to have to do. It was something he hadn’t even been able to do to his own wife.

Unwilling to leave Isla alone with Velma for the first time to go searching for the man, he set the grizzling baby back down in the bassinet after placing a kiss to her rosy cheek. He then approached the fireplace, picked up one of the pokers and brought it down harshly on the metal grate covering the front of the hearth.

Even he flinched at the resounding clang, and Isla burst into her customary ear splitting cries.

“Fuck.”

Negan’s heart plummeted as he heard the shuffling of footsteps from the dining room across from the lounge. Shambling, Morty came into view. His white shirt and braces covered in the viscous dark blood of his wife, her flesh hanging sickeningly from between his gnashing teeth.

“Mort…”

Growling, Morty gained speed, shuffling across the wooden floor towards him. Tears cascading down his cheeks, Negan raised the poker over his head, ready to take a swing at the advancing monster.

_It’s not him._

_It wasn’t her._

_That thing wasn’t my wife._

Despite his hands trembling and his body shaking with sobs, Negan brought the poker across Morty’s face with a loud crack. It sent flesh, blood and teeth shooting across the room towards the window, incapacitating the kind old man that had not long ago saved his life.

The body hit the floor with a thud and a growl, which Negan then silenced by shoving the sharp end of the poker between Morty’s glazed over eyes with a squelch.

With that, he fell to his knees, placed his head in his hands and cried for the first time since the hopeless little cave he and Isla found shelter in. Again, he and Isla were crying, and they were alone.

———————————————————————————————————-

With the sun setting, he stood beside a heaped grave. Isla was sleeping soundly against his chest, happiest because she was in her sling, her chubby hand tangled into her daddy’s soft red scarf.

With sweat and tears mingling on his face he shoved the crudely made tree branch crucifix into the soft soil topping the couple’s shared grave. He thought that might have been what they wanted. That way they’d be together.

“Won’t ever forget ya,” his voice cracked when he tried to speak and it took him a few moments more to continue, “I’ll tell Isla all about you both. You- you fuckin’ saved us. I just wish I could have done the same fucking thing for you both. Shit. Just, fucking sleep tight.”


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos or a comment on the last chapter. It really means a lot.  
> Please let me know your thoughts, comments or ideas on this chapter or future chapters!   
> Thanks for reading lovelies  
> xoxox

Staying at the farmhouse was painful. He kept the fire roaring for the sake of Isla’s health now the weather was getting significantly colder, but had little enthusiasm to do much else. Isla’s care and safety was his sole focus and priority.

 

That’s why he found himself inside a small townhouse, scavenging desperately for supplies. With Isla strapped to his chest in her sling, he kept his gun raised at all times as he navigated the dark hallway lined with doors to various rooms of the abandoned property. Thankfully, Isla was sleeping, and therefore quiet, as he knew any small sound from her could bring the dead on them at any second.

 

Feeling like he was in some shitty cop movie, he swung round the doorframe into the closest room, with his gun raised, and checked each corner before lowering the weapon tentatively. 

 

The bedroom was an assault of pink and white. A white wooden crib sat in the far corner, lovingly draped in a gauzy canopy, and lined with a plethora of stuffed animals and a warm blanket. Grabbing the blankets and shoving them into his backpack, Negan tried hard not to focus on the large blood stain on the rocking chair and the wall behind it, nor the trail of blood leading from the room. He swallowed hard as he shoved diapers, clean clothes, blankets, and even a tiny pair of fur lined booties into the backpack he had brought for things Isla could use.

 

The house had been the best he had come across so far, with a fully stocked pantry and provisions for Isla. After clearing every room, he decided to abort mission for the day and head back to the truck outside. Slowly, he opened the front door once again, and peered out into the street. Immediately, his heart plummeted at the sight of two gangly looking biters lurking on the front lawn of the house. The used-to-be-men were idly staring across the street, gurgling lowly and shuffling across the grass. One was missing a forearm, and his nose had been torn obscenely from his face, whereas the other had a gaping stomach wound, from which his entrails hung sickeningly.

 

“Poor fuckers,” Negan swore, flinching at the grisly sight, cupping the back of Isla’s head to shield her from it all. 

 

At the sound of his gruff voice, Isla stirred and blinked up at him. Negan froze, rubbing her back and praying that she didn’t make a sound. He knew he needed to get back to the truck before she woke properly and begun kicking up a fuss.

 

“Shhhhhhh princess, for just a fuckin’ minute more,” He murmured, as she gurgled quietly, and curled her hand against his leather jacket, fingers searching for some sort of comfort.

 

Not heeding her dad’s pleas, Isla opened her mouth and let out a pitiful little cry, and immediately the biters responded. Their heads turned toward the front door of the house, and they growled, advancing quickly at the prospect of a meal.

 

“Fuckity fucking fuck,” Negan swore, grabbing his knife from his belt and leaving the house to approach the one-armed biter. With a swift swing, he had imbedded the blade in the biter’s temple and retracted it with a horrifying squelch that send viscera flying over his clothes and hands. As he was trying to catch his breath, the other biter got closer, arms outstretched and  teeth clacking.

 

“Fuck off!” Negan cursed, lifting the knife high above his head before plunging it sharply between the biter’s eyes. The sickening growl it let out just before it hit the floor, sent Negan’s stomach reeling.

_ That used to be a person. _

_ Somebody’s neighbour, husband or son.  _

 

“Fuck,” He panted and drew a bloody hand across his face before peering back down at Isla, only to find her fast asleep once more.

* * *

 

Isla’s favourite thing to do was to lay on the rug in the middle of the lounge, kicking her legs while gnawing on the little brown bunny toy Velma had crocheted for her. Negan would lay beside her, blowing raspberries against her belly and cheeks until her mouth twitched slightly.

 

He wasn’t sure when she should start smiling, but she seemed to be closer and closer to doing so every day.

 

“Look at those little legs go, Isla-bug,” he laughed, as she kicked her feet quickly against the air, “you’ll fucking take off at that speed. Daddy won’t be able to fuckin’ keep up.”

 

Isla gurgled in reply, clumsily trying to shove her own fingers into her mouth. Negan felt his heart swell with overwhelming love for her. It happened every day, more than once. 

 

“I’m getting fucking hungry too bug. How about we get some grub then go for a nap?” he queried, sliding his hands beneath her before lifting her against his chest with a groan as he sat upright.

 

Isla snuggled her head into his neck with a squeak. He smiled and brought his fingers up to gently smooth the dark curls on top of her head.

“Sounds like a good fucking plan, right sweetheart?” he stood up and kissed her lightly before heading towards the kitchen.

 

Trying his hardest to ignore Morty’s boots by the back door, and Velma’s open cookery book on the stand, Negan sat Isla in the bouncer by the table and began preparing a bottle for her and a sandwich for himself. Noting the depleting stockpile of food  in the fridge, he sighed, knowing he would inevitably have to begin cooking for himself again instead of relying on the delicious leftovers of the last meals Velma ever cooked.

 

Negan sat down at the little wooden table and bent down to scoop Isla out of her chair, “Daddy’s gonna have to start cookin’ for himself. You’re lucky as shit you’re not on solid food yet kid.”   
  


Isla grunted in reply as Negan brought the bottle to her lips and propped it beneath his chin as he picked up his own sandwich. He held his lunch in one hand and Isla’s in the other, listening to her gulp down her meal greedily as he chewed his own.

 

“Your mama would probably have somethin’ to say about you guzzlin’ your milk like that bug,” he laughed, brushing the crumbs clinging to his fingertips off on his jeans, “say it wasn’t ladylike or some shit.”   
  


Isla released the half empty bottle with a pop of her pouted lips, taking in a deep breath. Negan laughed and deftly sat her upright on his knee with his hand beneath her chin to support her head. 

 

Using the heel of his free hand he rubbed her back in firm circles. Isla struggled and grunted in his grasp, arching her back against his palm until she finally released a burp that seemed to surprise even herself.

 

Negan laughed at the wide-eyed expression on her face, lifting her up to press a kiss to her forehead, “that’s my girl.”

* * *

 

Once their hunger was sated, Negan bundled Isla up into her warmest clothes, including a thick, pink woolen coat with big golden buttons that used to belong to Velma’s daughter and a matching knitted hat.

 

He then tucked her safely inside her carrier, along with his red scarf to keep her cosy and armed himself with his gun and knife at his hip just in case. Heading out into the cold, Negan rubbed his palms together, swearing under his breath about the dip in temperature.

 

Thankfully, the cold seemed to be slowing the biters down, as no strays had found their way to the isolated little farmhouse since just after Negan had arrived. Initially, he took out only a couple that had gotten caught on the recently fortified fences, but hadn’t seen any since. 

 

It turned out Morty was a fan of vintage motorcycles and cars which he kept in a barn at the back of the property in pristine condition. He had showed Negan his collection one evening, explaining with enthusiasm how he has restored each one to their former glory once he had retired. It seemed wrong not to go and see them one more time and admire them the way Morty always wanted them to be.

 

Using the set of heavy brass keys, Negan wrenched open the door to the barn with a grunt, seeing dust motes float through the air as light flooded the cavernous space.

 

Shoving the ring of keys into his pocket, Negan approached the only vehicle without a dust sheet - a sleek black car, which had lost its branding some time ago. He and Morty had towed it back from some car park in town during a supply run, and Morty had run him through all the improvements he wanted to make to the vehicle before it joined his collection. 

 

“Just wish I could fix this guy up for ya Mort,” he mumbled, running his fingertips over the shiny surface, “afraid I'm not a fucking car guy by any means so I'm just gonna use your truck to get Isla and I to...wherever the fuck we end up.”

 

Isla let out a short grunt, knocking her curled up fist on his chest. With a chuckle at her unconscious cry for attention, Negan kissed her head, “we’re gonna be ok baby girl. We'll wait until winter passes then see if we can scope out somewhere else. Somewhere safer.”

 

All he longed for was somewhere where he could keep Isla safe every day. Somewhere where she could grow, and he knew she would be ok. He wanted her to be able to run around and play without the threat of running into a stranger, or worse, a stray biter. 

 

The farmhouse fence was strong enough to fend off one or two biters, but he and Morty had seen distant herds on their scavenging runs. Hundreds or even thousands of ravenous biters would tear through the farmhouse with ease, and Negan knew that. He just hoped that the weather would protect them for long enough to ensure that didn’t happen.

* * *

 

That night, Negan dreamt of a sanctuary. Somewhere high, made of strong cinderblock with equally high fences. He could peer down at the walkers below like the king of the fucking castle, watching them futilely struggle to get through the strong defences with their snapping jaws and rough hands, knowing with confidence that he and his baby were safe.

 

Through the fog of a deep sleep, a crushing pressure engulfed his chest. He gasped for breath, and sat upright in the dark, hands pressed to his sternum to ease the tightness that sat there. Attempting to inhale through the vice-like grip on his chest and throat, he choked and spluttered at the lack of oxygen in the air, and that’s when he opened his eyes.

 

His heart plummeted, as he realised he couldn’t see any further than the end of his nose through the smoke filling the room. Thick and dark, it filled every space from floor to ceiling, and he immediately pressed his palm over his nose and mouth to prevent any more of the toxic substance entering his body. Leaping out of the bed, Negan scooped up Isla from her bassinet, and used her blanket to shield her tiny face from as much of the smoke as he could.

 

Thankfully, he could feel her shallow little breaths against his own chest as he held her, though he couldn’t tell if she was really all right.

 

Crouching as low as possible to avoid the thickest smoke toward the ceiling, he edged toward the door, managing to grab Isla’s backpack of essentials, his boots and jacket in one hand on the way. He knew that they’d need it if the house was damaged beyond repair, which his gut instinct told him it would be. 

 

The hallway was worse, with barely any visibility at all between the darkness of the night and the surrounding smoke. He blindly fumbled with his free hand to find the bannister of the staircase, desperate to get Isla to the front door and fresh air as quickly as he could. She wasn’t crying, or moving much, which was worrying him. She was usually such a wriggly little thing, even when she had just woken up.

 

Negan took the stairs quickly, his own chest heaving desperately for clean air. The foundations of the house creaked around him, sending him into a panic. Could it fucking collapse around them? 

 

Adrenaline flooded his system at the mere thought of the house falling, and he sped up, though his co-ordination didn’t advance along with his haste.

 

“FUCK!” he cursed when his foot hit the bottom step awkwardly and he stumbled forward, clutching Isla to his chest hard enough to make her shakily cry out. Steadying himself on the wall beside the door, he glanced around the entrance to Velma and Morty’s home, and instantly spotted the flames licking at the walls at the back of the house, seeming to be the most intense in the kitchen.

 

He reached out and his large hand quickly wrapped around the rounded handle of the front door. Clumsily, his thumb searched for the circular lock in the centre, shaking as he managed to unlock it and stumble out into the fresh air.

 

Gasping, he collapsed to his knees, dropping the few belongings he had managed to grab. His chest was burning as it attempted to expel the toxic smoke with strong, chesty coughs. He lay Isla down on the porch, and looked her over for harm.

 

She was red in the face, and her breathing was shallow. Immediately, he scooped her up and began rubbing her back, encouraging her to take deeper breaths of the icy, fresh air. Soon, he felt her breaths begin to even out, though he could hear her little chest rattling. She was still recovering from her cold, and her chest was not in top condition anyway without the added compromise of the fire and smoke.

 

“S’alright baby girl,” he said, his voice gruff from the coughing and the smoke inhalation, “Daddy’s here. You’re ok. You’re all right. We’re out.”

 

Isla let out a sharp, piercing cry, and Negan clasped her to his chest, relieved that she was ok. She was breathing, and alive, and that’s all that mattered. Scrambling to his feet as the porch creaked, he stumbled down the steps, dragging their few belongings behind him. He sat on the grass, cupping the back of Isla’s tiny head as she wailed away at him in the cold.

 

All he could do was gaze up at the house, as smoke billowed from the windows and doors to plume into the inky sky, shutting them out for good.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve Eve to all of you who celebrate, and to those who don't I hope you're all having a peaceful and relaxing time of year too.  
> I really struggled with this chapter and getting it just right so I hope it's ok.   
> Please leave kudos and your comments to let me know your thoughts or ideas. I love hearing from anybody who takes time to read my stuff - it really makes my day.  
> Thanks for reading lovelies, and I hope you enjoy  
> xoxo

By morning, the house was charred beyond recognition. Sometime in the night, he had scooped Isla up and gotten into Morty’s truck down on the dirt track to shield them from the ever-dropping temperature. Sitting out of the brisk winds, he had watched the house burn, pondering his next move as Isla slept restlessly on the front seat beside him. He had wiped the soot from her face, and held her close whenever she stirred from her sleep, unable to tear his gaze away from the smouldering framework of their last home.

 

It was only getting colder, and now they no longer had shelter. A panic gripped him, reminiscent of the emotions of the first few days of Isla’s life and the outbreak. 

 

He couldn’t go back to not knowing where he was going to find Isla’s next bottle, or if he would find formula for her at all. He couldn’t stand not being able to provide her with the standard of care that she had become accustomed to at the farmhouse. She deserved her warm fur lined bassinet, regularly changed diapers, the bubble baths, and the tiny crocheted toys that had just gone up in smoke before his eyes.

 

Resting his forearms on the steering wheel, he pressed his forehead against the muscle, trying to compose himself. Now was not the time to fucking fall to pieces. He had to brush himself down and move on, no matter how draining it would be. They would gain nothing by sitting there and waiting for a solution to pull itself out of its ass. 

 

Recalling the sprawling and wealthy communities nearby that he and Morty often scavenged from, Negan decided that it might have the supplies or shelter he would need, even if only temporarily. They had yet to search the stately homes and estates on the outskirts of the small settlement, and he remembered marvelling over their high fences and gates that would make them easy to defend against biters, and therefore ideal now that he and Isla were alone again.

* * *

Isla slept soundly inside her sling against his chest as he drove towards the settlement. She seemed to enjoy the movement and rumble of the old truck, as she stayed asleep for the entirety of the substantial journey, gripping his red scarf between her tiny fingers.

 

Surveying each of the houses in the sprawling neighbourhood as he drove the truck at a slow crawl past them, Negan raised his eyebrows at the fucking astonishing homes some people had been lucky enough to own before the world went to shit. At least the apocalypse had put everybody back on the same level, he thought grimly, spotting a home tucked away at the end of the cul-de-sac with tall gates and a surrounding brick wall.

 

“Fuck me, darlin’. Would ya look at this?” he whistled lowly, sending condensation pluming from between his lips as his warm breath met the cold air. He peered up at the large home before him in complete awe and excitement at the prospect of what was inside. 

 

Though partially hidden behind the gate twined with ivy and overgrown shrubbery, it seemed uninhabited and like somewhere he could defend. Plus, the rich fuckers were sure to have a pantry stuffed full of food right?

 

“You could really live like a fuckin’ princess huh?” he cooed, hopping out of the truck with his hand braced on the gun at his hip in case of a sneaky biter. 

 

Unhappy with being jostled, Isla grunted and peered up at him with a frown. All rosy cheeks and deep blue eyes between her thick coat and hat, she looked simply adorable, and Negan couldn’t help but smile at her.

 

“What you glarin’ at baby girl?” he laughed, stroking her rosy cheek, “Don’t sass your daddy.”

Isla simply huffed at him before snuggling back into his chest to sleep.

 

Laden down with their belongings, and the baby strapped to his chest, Negan finally got them inside the house. It was opulently decorated, with thick creamy carpets and expensive, wooden furniture. Nothing like the bare wooden floor and flat-packed furniture of his and Lucille’s first home. 

 

When they had gotten married, they had always dreamt of owning a property like the one he now stood in, cradling their daughter. Lucille’s dreams of their family home always far-surpassed their financial capabilities, succeeding in making Negan feel like even more of a piece of shit that didn’t deserve his wife. Had he been more motivated, and gone for higher paid positions that required more responsibility, he knew that they could potentially start saving for somewhere more substantial. On his meagre teacher’s salary, there was no prospect of their dream home ever being on the horizon. And yet, she put up with him.

 

With Lucille, and her patience with his lacklustre approach to life in the forefront of his mind Negan carefully searched the house from top to bottom with Isla still snoozing against him. He felt relieved upon finding it blessedly empty, though slightly chaotic. 

 

The previous occupants had clearly left in a hurry. Their solid dresser drawers were pulled open and clothes lay strewn over the floors in the bedrooms. Carefully, Negan tucked them all away, and gathered up anything that could be useful, including some t-shirts he could wear, and pillows and throw blankets from the messy  bed in the master bedroom to keep he and Isla warm.

 

“This looks like the best place to set up base camp, bug,” he murmured to Isla, walking back into the reception room at the front of the house with his hands on his hips. With a large window that looked out onto the street, and clear paths to his exits, it seemed like the safest place to set up camp for the time being. 

 

Negan lay the blanket Isla had been wrapped in when they fled the farmhouse on the floor, and settled her down onto it. Her tiny frame was flanked by the three bulging backpacks that contained their sparse belongings from the farmhouse. 

 

Once Isla was busy entertaining herself by gurgling and trying to eat her own hands, he began shoving the weighty furniture towards the windows and doors. No fuckin’ way was anyone or anything getting into the place on his watch. Once happy that the place was as secure as it could be for the time being, he sat down on the floor by his girl, stretching his long legs out across the carpet.

 

Peeling off his boots and socks, he nestled his toes into the thick, soft carpet below, tilting his head as he watched Isla clumsily try to shove her whole fist into her mouth. 

 

“Not got anyone to fucking impress here bug. No point performin’ party tricks for daddy,” he laughed lightly, taking her little hand between his thumb and pointer finger. He rubbed it gently in a futile attempt to stop her shoving her fist down her throat anymore, “Sure I’ve got a fucking pacifier in that bag somewhere, but I don’t want you fucking squawking at me for it all day long.”

 

Isla huffed out a little breath, kicking her legs against the blanket. Her cheeks were regaining colour now they were out of the cold, so he decided she was probably too bundled up for the time being. Negan reached over and plucked the pink woolen hat from her head, smirking at the fluff of ruffled dark curls beneath.

 

“There she is,” he rumbled with a big smile on his scruffy face, deftly unbuttoning the golden buttons on her coat and sliding it from her tiny torso, “Knew my little Isla-bug was buried in there fucking somewhere.”

 

Running his fingers over the quilted fabric of the coat Velma had gifted to his baby, he recalled a similar item Lucille had bought during her pregnancy. 

 

“Your mama had this big old snow suit ready for you before you were born. Shame you can’t wear it really. Cost me about a quarter of my fuckin’ shitty pay packet at the time. Your mom had her heart set on it though, and I couldn’t say no to her, even though I said you’d look like a fuckin’ marshmallow in it.”

 

Isla gurgled back at him, as if trying to continue conversation, and Negan smiled softly at her. He allowed her to gurgle on, before continuing once she’d stopped, “maybe we could head back there and pick up some of your shit. Neighbourhood was fucking overrun at first, but it might be clearer now. Wouldn’t mind grabbing a picture of your mama, and some of my shit either. You could wear your little fuckin’ marshmallow suit for the winter.”

 

Gurgling loudly at Negan, Isla kicked her legs against the blanket beneath her, clenching her tiny fingers into fists again and again.

 

Negan laughed at her playfulness, and took her by the waist to pivot her on the blanket so she was laying between his legs, “Where’s my goofy fuckin’ girl, huh?”

 

Isla grunted and kicked her legs again, to which Negan responded by sticking his tongue out at her and blowing a raspberry. Isla took quick excited breaths, kicking her legs and flailing her arms as the pair repeated their silly actions back and forth.

 

Just as he was tiring of their game, Isla’s mouth quirked at the corner, and her rosy cheek dimpled. Negan felt his heart pound within his chest at the sight, and he decided to persist with his stupid fucking noises, no matter how ridiculous he felt.

 

With each sound from her daddy, Isla’s lips lifted a little further each time, until she was gurgling away with the biggest open mouthed smile on her face. Two round dimples graced her cheeks, and her rosy gums were on show. 

 

Negan felt tears come to his eyes. He had never seen anything so fucking beautiful, and simultaneously heartbreaking. She was so sweet and innocent - smiling over silly fucking noises coming from his ugly mug. How the fuck was he supposed to shield her from the horrors of their world now? 

 

That smile was the best thing he had ever seen, and he knew he would go to the end of the earth to ensure that his baby girl kept smiling every single day.

 

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous baby girl. Aren’t ya?” he grumbled with a smirk on his lips and tucked his hands beneath Isla. 

 

She grunted when he lifted her, and then bent his knees so she could lay against them. At the change of view, bringing her suddenly closer to her daddy, Isla frowned in confusion. Her rosy lips pouted and her brow furrowed over big blue, watery eyes, leaving wrinkles across her forehead. She sure was an expressive little thing.

 

“What’s the problem, cutie?” Negan laughed at her, and stroked her cheek with his large fingers, “Where’s that pretty smile gone? Jeeeee-sus. You look just like your mama when you make that face. She used to frown at me just fucking like that when I had one too many beers, or swear in front of her fucking fancy-ass mother. Woman always acted like she had a fucking stick up her ass.”

 

Negan laughed at his own words, before shaking his head, “sorry bug. Shouldn’t be talking about your grandma like that. Your mom would hand my fucking ass to me if she heard me.”

 

Isla lulled her head back a little bit then, and opened her mouth to let out a yawn. Her fingers began clenching again, and Negan reached up to unwind the scarf from around his neck. Once it was free, he folded it and tucked it between her fingers. Immediately, she seemed calmer, and gripped the soft worn fabric, bringing it up so both hands could grasp it at the same time.

 

Rocking his knees to-and-fro, Negan watched her go through the usual motions of falling asleep. Mostly she wriggled, and squeezed at the scarf, occasionally wrinkling her nose up. Once her eyes were closed however, she was out like a light as always. Her breaths deepened and she relaxed completely against him, lips pushed together in a silly little pout that Negan found absolutely adorable.

 

Reaching out with a mischievous smirk, he gently stroked the tip of his index finger along her lower lip. It twitched beneath his touch, as she frowned at the disturbance to her peaceful rest.

  
“Sleep tight, bug,” Negan murmured, leaning forward and pressing a lasting kiss to her soft forehead. He lingered just long enough to inhale the sweet, powdery scent from her hair that reminded him that he would be okay. The tiny baby in his arms was his anchor to the shitty world they lived in. She had managed to keep him wrapped around her tiny little fingers since day one and remind him constantly why he needed to persevere. 

 

No matter what, he would carry on for her. Although they were stuck in hell, at least they were there together.


	9. Nine

_ “Keep those beautiful fuckin’ peepers closed, Lu,” Negan murmured against her ear, blowing her soft dark curls across her face. _

_ “They’re closed! Promise!” She squealed, hopping from foot to foot on the spot as Negan held her waist and positioned her just right.  _

 

_ The whole journey, Negan had insisted that she stay blindfolded, and even now he wasn’t letting her open her eyes. They had travelled quite a distance from his shitty little apartment in town, and Lucille was both excited and confused by his secrecy. _

 

_ Negan laughed and shook his head at her, “You sure? I mean if you’ve been peeking then I can’t let you see your surprise.” _

 

_ “Fuck Ne, you’re killing me here! Remind me why I married such a stubborn asshole?” Lucille huffed, placing her hands on her hips as a display of her growing impatience. Only the smirk playing on her plump lips let him know she was teasing him. _

 

_ “You love it baby,” he purred against her ear, “now open your eyes.” _ _   
_ _ Lucille couldn’t open them fast enough, and Negan watched as she took in the sight before her. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they had before. A small two-storey house, with a wrap-around porch that needed varnished, and dusty windows. It desperately needed some TLC but Negan knew Lucille would want somewhere she could put her own stamp on. _

 

_ “Got a good fuckin’ deal on it,” Negan murmured, suddenly nervous. What if she hated it, or was pissed because he had purchased their first real home without consulting her first? _

 

_ With a shriek of excitement, Lucille spun round and leapt at him. Negan caught her by her thighs as she wrapped her long legs and arms around his tall frame. _

 

_ “I love it,” she wept, holding his face in between her dainty hands. Her engagement and wedding rings glinted in the sunlight against his clean-shaven cheek. _

 

_ Negan grinned at her, proud of himself for once in his life, and pressed his lips to his wife’s.  _

* * *

Thankfully, the neighbourhood was clear of most of the walkers that had lurked there on the first days of the outbreak when Negan had first tried to go home. He presumed the poor fuckers had wandered off once they had chowed down on any of his remaining neighbours.

 

A low, gurgling growl from behind him caused him to curse, and draw the bowie knife from his belt. He swung round and struck the male walker in the head with a sickening crack. The walker stumbled and then hit the concrete, the momentum of its final fall enough to dislodge Negan’s knife from it’s skull.

 

With a disparaging sigh, he flicked the gore from the serrated blade and turned back to the house, his heart still hammering within his chest.

 

The house still looked the same as the day they had left for the hospital when Lucille had gone into labour. He never imagined he’d be back there with their baby girl without her.

 

“This is it princess,” Negan murmured to Isla as she peered up at him inquisitively from beneath her woolly hat. He had noticed she was spending more time awake now, and spent most of it staring at him intently with her mother’s deep blue eyes. It should’ve been unnerving but it comforted him for a reason he couldn’t quite explain.

 

“Let’s do this,” he let out a deep breath before ascending the six steps of the porch. Lifting the small flower pot by the front door, he located the spare key hidden there and used it to unlock the front door. 

 

Immediately, the sweet scent of Lucille hit him, and almost sent him reeling backwards. Isla gurgled at him and kicked her little legs against his chest, almost as if she recognised the scent of her mother too.

 

Taking another step into the hallway, he tried his hardest to ignore her favourite Converse on the shoe rack by the door alongside his comparatively huge sneakers. Lucille always teased him for how ridiculously large his feet were, which Negan always argued wasn’t a bad thing.

 

_ “Y’know what they say about guys with big feet, doll…?” _

 

He proceeded forward, feeling comforted by the familiarity of his home. He remembered mornings with Lucille cooking pancakes, or hosting family barbeques in their tiny backyard. They had been a sociable couple, with plenty of friends and family to entertain on Friday or Saturday nights. 

 

Negan didn’t even want to think of what had happened to them all when the world went to shit. He could only pray they went quickly.

 

Tearfully, Negan let out a laugh at the sight of the shredded cardboard box discarded on the floor of the lounge in front of the large sofa.

 

_ “FUCK!” Lucille swore, braced on the edge of the bed and clutching the sheets as she tried to breathe through her worsening contractions. When the pain struck she felt paralysed, and stood as still as possible in fear of making the pain more intense if she moved a muscle. _

 

_ Negan stood in the doorway like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do to help her. He knew he needed to get her to the hospital, but every time he tried to go near her she threatened to rip off his balls and shove them down his throat if he touched her. _

 

_ Once the contraction had subsided, Lucille begun panting and rocking her hips again to ease the pressure in her pelvis. _

_ “Ne, you did install the car seat right? They won’t let us bring the baby home if it isn’t in the car correctly,” she pleaded.  _

 

_ Negan’s eyes widened comically, “Sure I fuckin’ did doll. Um, lemme just go grab the bags and get them in the car. Shout if you need me.” _

 

_ As soon as the words left his lips, Negan bounded down the stairs to the closet beneath them. He yanked the door open and pulled out the hefty box containing the pricey car seat he should’ve installed weeks ago when Lucille asked him to. _

 

_ “Fuckin’ idiot,” he cursed himself and begun tearing at the box, “Should’ve fuckin’ listened to her. As always. When the fuck am I gonna learn...She’s always fuckin’ right.” _

* * *

“This was going to be your room, Isla Bug,” Negan said softly, stepping into the room. It was just as he remembered it. Lucille had picked a soft lilac colour for the walls since she didn’t want everything to be pink. The crib was set up perfectly, with flowery sheets and a lone bunny tucked into the corner beneath the sheer canopy strung from the ceiling.

 

“Your mom spent all of her spare time in here, making this perfect for you,” he said, glancing over at the rocking chair in the corner stacked with plush cushions.

 

Negan could picture Lucille so clearly, dozing in that chair in the sunlight through the window just days before Isla was born. Her swollen feet were propped up on the footstool, and her dainty hands rested on her belly which was full of little Isla, squirming and waiting to enter the world.

 

Feeling tears run down his cheeks, Negan huffed out a sharp breath and opened up the drawers Lucille had put Isla’s clothes into. He took the backpack he had brought along and shoved anything that would still fit her inside, including the aforementioned marshmallow snow suit. 

 

“Too many fuckin’ clothes bug,” Negan laughed, struggling to zip the backpack up again once the useful clothes had been packed inside. Isla gurgled at him, chewing on her tiny fingers as he stood upright and slung the first backpack over his shoulder. 

 

As he went to leave the room, the sunlight glinted off the black beady eyes of the soft bunny tucked into the crib. Negan picked it up and squeezed it gently in his hands, watching the floppy ears wiggle. 

 

_ “What the fuck does she need that for?” Negan laughed, watching Lucille carefully position the small bunny in the corner of the crib. He didn’t understand half the shit she had done in the nursery, but he trusted her to make it a nice space for their little girl. _

 

_ “So she doesn’t get lonely,” Lucille replied tenderly, placing her hand on the swell of her belly which just seemed to be getting bigger every day. Turning to him, she gave him a look as if she had just said the most obvious thing in the world. _

 

_ “She won’t know if she’s lonely doll,” Negan said with a teasing grin at his wife, “plus she’ll have us. She’s not going to be lonely.” _

* * *

With the little bunny tucked into the sling with Isla, Negan ventured into his and Lucille’s bedroom next. Trying so hard to ignore Lucille’s clothes and overpowering scent, he opened up his wardrobe and retrieved a few pairs of clean jeans, underwear and t-shirts to ensure he had at least a few changes of clothes. He didn’t need much to get by.

 

“Want to get a picture of your mama for you bug,” Negan spoke softly to Isla who was on the brink of falling fast asleep. Turning to face the wall covered in framed photographs, Negan’s eyes glazed over. Every important moment in their life together was on that wall in some capacity. 

 

Their first date, their first vacation together, their first Christmas, their engagement party, their first anniversary, the day they found out they were expecting Isla, all of Isla’s scan pictures, and most importantly their wedding day.

 

A pair of the best photographs from the day were in the centre of the wall in beautiful silver frames. The first depicted Negan and Lucille at the altar, sharing their first kiss as a married couple. Negan felt like an asshole in his expensive black tux, and had spent the moments up until his bride arrived trying to loosen his bow tie. However all of his anxieties had fallen away the second he laid eyes on Lucille.

 

In a slinky white gown, she was a vision as she beamed at him in the photograph, her dark curls twirled away from her face in a delicate bun at the nape of her neck, amongst which tiny white flowers had been dotted. Her slender neck and shoulders were on show, only decorated by the simple diamond necklace her father had bought for her.

 

“Wasn’t she beautiful?” Negan whispered, gingerly brushing his fingertip over Isla’s rosy cheek and pouty lips as she slept. He could only hope that Isla inherited Lucille’s looks when she grew up. She was bound to be a beautiful girl.

 

The second photograph was one Negan had insisted on having taken on their wedding day. 

The newlyweds stood on the lawn of the fancy hotel, a good distance apart. Lucille was pitching a baseball to her new husband, still wearing her beautiful wedding dress and laughing hysterically. Opposite her, Negan stood with a baseball bat poised over his shoulder, ready to take a swing. His brow was furrowed, and his tongue poked from between his teeth in concentration as he smirked at his wife.

 

It was certainly one of his favourite photographs of the two of them. Lucille’s hair had since been released from the intricate do she had it in for the ceremony, leaving it loose and wild around her shoulders just as Negan loved it to be.

Negan unhooked the frames from the wall, and gently prised the photographs from their protective confines, being careful not to damage them. He then slipped them into his jacket pocket, knowing that he would treasure them until his last breaths. 

 

Coming back home had been a tough decision, but one that had been more than worth it in his eyes to retrieve memories of Lucille he would’ve otherwise never seen again.

 

He needed them for Isla too. To try and show her how special her mother was, when she inevitably asked him questions in the years to come about the mother she didn’t have. He dreaded that day, but for now he was content to simply shower his baby with stories of Lucille, and pray that one day he’d be able to explain clearly enough what an incredible woman she was.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I’ve made it to chapter ten of this already! 
> 
> So, this chapter was tricky to write, and I’m still not happy with it, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> As always, leave kudos and leave me your thoughts and feelings, my lovelies.
> 
> xoxo

Immediately, Negan knew something was wrong.

The first clue was the trampled gravel leading up to the house, which gave away several bodies approaching it during his absence. The second was the ajar front door, through which someone had obviously entered. 

Dead ones couldn’t fucking open doors.

Unsheathing the knife from his belt, he cupped his free hand over the back of Isla’s head protectively. She nuzzled her head back into her daddy’s palm, grunting in her sleep.

“It’ll be alright baby girl,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss her warm forehead, “daddy’s gonna fuckin’ kill whoever is in our place.”

Cautiously, he crept towards the porch, staying low along the edge of the house to ensure anybody inside would see him through the window. Still shielding Isla, he made it quietly up the steps and through the narrow crack of the open door.

Immediately, he heard their voices. Male voices.

And there was more than one of them. More than he could take on alone.

“Fuck me. Nothin’ here but a bunch of fuckin’ baby shit,” one of them complained, admist the noises of their rummaging. Negan felt his blood boil. How dare they fuckin’ put their filthy thieving hands on his baby girl’s things?

He kept his back pressed against the wall outside of the lounge, praying that Isla wouldn’t make a sound. Hoping it would keep her asleep, he continued to stroke her soft dark hair.

“Obviously a guy here,” another man grunted, “or a massive woman.”

The group laughed, and Negan tried his hardest to distinguish the number of different laughs he could hear in the room. He could make out around five separate voices as they continued to lament the lack of supplies that would be useful to them.

Suddenly, Isla stirred against his chest, stretching her tiny limbs and arching her back with a yawn. Negan flinched, praying that she was just fussing momentarily, and wouldn’t wake up to begin her routine gurgling conversation with him.

However, little Isla had other plans, and opened her big blue eyes.

Futilely, Negan pressed his finger to his lips, though he knew she had no idea what that signal meant. Isla gave her daddy a big old dimpled grin and gurgled softly, but it was more than loud enough to be heard by the intruders.

Immediately, he heard their footsteps, and before he could move, three of the men were surrounding them. They were heavily armed, and he found himself staring down a trio of barrels.

Negan swore and immediately wrapped his arms around Isla, keeping her as shielded as he could from the threat. He kept his knife raised though, letting them know he would use it if they came any closer.

God forbid they fucking hurt his girl. He’d never forgive himself.

“Well, well, well. Look who came home Grant!” The short, plump man immediately in front of Negan spoke with a smirk on his face. Negan wanted to slit his throat.

A tall man, with grey hair and a thick beard stepped into the hallway. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, as if he were taking a nice leisurely stroll. His long, crooked nose that gave away how many times he’d been broken it, and a straight scar from jawline to eye socket trailed down the right side of his face.

Negan knew immediately that this guy was in charge, and the one to plead with.

“A baby huh?” Grant spoke slowly, circling the pair like a vulture.

Negan growled in response at his direct mention of Isla, “you fuckin’ lay a finger on her, I swear to God…”

“Hey!” Grant smirked and raised his hands in the air. Immediately the trio of men lowered their

weapons, “You really think we’d be sick enough to hurt a baby, man?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know you,” Negan glared at the short, fat man who had pressed a gun to his forehead only minutes prior.

“True,” Grant shrugged with an unreadable smirk on his lips, “but you have my word.”  
“Doesn’t mean shit,” Negan said, “but I’m guessing that doesn’t mean much to you people.”

“How do you know that?” Grant said, “We haven’t hurt either of you have we?”  
  


“Yet,” Negan heard the fat guy murmur under his breath and shot him an icy glare. Immediately, the guy dropped his gaze to the floor, clearly intimidated by the tall, dark stranger.

“Hey,” Grant spoke, drawing Negan’s attention once more, “I like ya. I can tell you’re strong. Hell, you’d have to be to have kept yourself and a kid alive this long. You stick with us, we’ll keep you both fed, and protected.”

  
“By moving round and stealing other people’s shit?” Negan asked gruffly, with contempt in his voice. He didn’t like these guys. Not one little bit.

Another pair of men had joined Grant, and his lackeys in the hallway. Each were tall and imposing, but Negan could see right through the facade.

He’d been dealing with fuckers like them for most of his life. Guys who thought they were tough, but would crumble when put under real life-threatening pressure.

Grant laughed, “we only take what we have to survive. Don’t think of it as stealing…think of it as…sharing, hm? You want your kid to learn how to share, don’t you?”

Negan glanced down at his little girl, and her big blue eyes peered back at him. He, independently, could only protect her for so long. There was safety in numbers, even if those numbers accounted for a bunch of assholes.

They had weapons, and food, and right now, that equated to survival.

“We come with you. I work for you. You’ll help me protect her?” Negan asked gruffly, peering over at Grant.

Grant placed his hand over his heart and nodded, “Like I said, I give you my word.”

Negan looked down at Isla again. Still gurgling away, she kicked her tiny feet against his tummy. She was blissfully unaware of the decision her daddy was having to make for her safety.

Grant grinned at him wolfishly and took a step closer to the pair, “so, what’s your name?”

* * *

Negan watched the six men like a hawk throughout the evening. Grant had decided to stay at the house for the night since a few of the dead had begun wandering the street, meaning Negan had no choice but to share the space with the six rather unpleasant smelling individuals.

Tony, the fat fucker who had threatened him, had his nose in Negan’s last tin of peaches, while  Grant, Eric, Carter, Tyson and Mikey (the smallest of the group by far), sat round on the furniture, lounging and laughing as if they hadn’t barged in and taken over Negan’s safe haven.

Isla began fussing for a feed on her usual schedule, and Negan quickly prepped her bottle, ignoring the pointed looks from the men around him. He rocked her as he shook the bottle to mix the formula thoroughly.

“Alright bug. Got dinner right here,” he murmured, ensuring the lid of the bottle was secure before slipping the teat into Isla’s mouth. Immediately she began gulping down her meal, closing her eyes in content. Negan couldn’t help but smile as she made her usual little grunting noises as she drank down her milk.

The uncomfortable tingles down his spine drew Negan’s attention from her and he finally glanced up.

Across the dimly lit space, Grant’s small eyes were fixed on the pair of them, though his body was relaxed as he lounged across the largest of the three sofas in the room.

“Does she attract the dead ones?” he asked, picking at his nails with the point of his knife.

Negan shook his head, frowning at the man, “never. She’s quiet, doesn’t fuss fuckin’ ever when we’re out. She just sleeps mostly.”

Tony smirked at him and Negan wanted to knock his teeth out, “she fussed when we found ya.”

“Wasn’t fuckin’ fussin’ asshole. She was making noises. She’s not a fuckin’ robot. She talks, she laughs, she makes noises,” Negan said firmly, “and to answer the original fuckin’ question - she has never brought fuckin’ dead ones down on us. Not by crying.”

Grant nodded, seemingly happy with Negan’s answer, though he shared a look with Eric that Negan couldn’t quite read. Eric was clearly his second in command, and though he was quiet, Negan could tell he was a force to be reckoned with just by the imposing size of his frame.

“The little brat brings the dead ones on us, I know who I’ll be leaving behind,” Tony murmured, shovelling the last of the peaches into his mouth with a slurp.

Negan glared at him as Isla’s chubby little hand reached up to hold onto his around the bottle, “that a fuckin’ threat?”

Tony smirked and set the can down, “I didn’t name names did I, Neal?”

“It’s fuckin’ Negan. And I think you’d be the fucking Happy Meal in that situation, on account of the fact your fat ass couldn’t outrun me, even with a baby strapped to my chest,” Negan replied, staring Tony down until the man cast his beady eyes aside uncomfortably.

“Wooo!” Grant laughed loudly, rubbing his hands together and hopping to his feet, “I knew I fuckin’ liked you.”

Negan looked over at the tall, greying man in disbelief. How could he be encouraging conflict between his own men?

Grant looked around the room, his small brown eyes glinting unnervingly as he finally rested his gaze on Negan and Isla, “And on that note, gentlemen, let’s get some rest. We move out in the morning.”


	11. Eleven

Keeping his head down, shielded only by the hood of his coat, Negan trudged forward. In the centre of the group as they navigated the forest, he was slightly more sheltered from the icy winds, but it still wasn’t enough to stop him shivering in his boots.

 

He had Isla bundled up as much as she could be, and she was tucked beneath both his shirt and his coat, as well as being bundled in her own clothes, blanket and sling. When he peered down at her, she was sleeping soundly with the soft bunny pressed against her rosy cheek.

 

_ Fuck,  _ he cursed inwardly, praying that Grant had a plan of where they would find shelter that night. It felt like they had been walking for days in the icy weather. So far, their only choice had been to camp outside, taking turns in flimsy tents and sleeping bags as shelter from the worsening elements.

 

Thankfully, Grant had given Negan and Isla their own sleeping bag to ensure they were as warm as they could be, and they were put into the rotation for the tent along with the rest of the men.

 

“Not far now!” Grant hollered over the howling wind pelting them in the face. Negan could feel his cheeks and nose stinging from the cold, and he was certain they would be bright red. 

 

More than anything, he was worried about Isla.

Her chest only just clearing after her nasty cold, Negan didn’t want to risk it turning into a chest infection or worse due to exposure to the harsh elements.

 

So far, Isla seemed to be fine. She slept and ate on her normal schedule despite their newly nomadic lifestyle. As long as she was nestled against her daddy, she seemed to be happy enough. In fact, the movement of their constant marching seemed to rock her to sleep more regularly.

 

Despite how placated she was, Negan noticed the dubious looks from Tony every time the pair had to pause or dropped slightly behind the others. When Grant had given the father and daughter their own sleeping bag, Tony was less than pleased. The chubby man yelled and ranted until he was blue in the face about the unfairness of the new additions to the group immediately getting privileges, to which Grant replied with a chuckle.

 

“Can’t have the little one freezin’ out here now can we Tone?” Grant said calmly, patting Tony’s beefy shoulder and casting a grin over at Negan before the topic was dropped completely.

Negan knew he didn’t trust Tony however, and made sure never to turn his back on him unless he could really help it.

 

Currently, Negan could see him trudging through the mud ahead, his stumpy body struggling to keep up against the other tall men with much longer legs.  _ Fuckin’ callin’ my girl a burden, huh? _

Negan strode past him, trying to conceal the smirk on his face as he caught up with Grant at the front just as they reached the clearing where they would set up camp for the night.

 

Eric begun the taxing job of stringing rope laden with bundles of tin cans and bells between the trees surrounding the clearing. Negan had been impressed by the idea, though he didn’t mention this to anyone. Any walker that stumbled upon them would stumble over the rope, making a clatter and alerting the group to their presence immediately. It had been enough to protect them on the cold nights so far.

 

Negan was sure the cold must have slowed the biters down some, since it had been a few days since they had stumbled across one.

 

He perched on the edge of a tree stump, feeling the damp seeping through his filthy, grey jeans and chill his ass right to the bone. He hissed as he reached into his pack and gathered up one of Isla’s ready-made bottles of formula.

 

“Hey there Bug. Time for dinner,” Negan murmured, feeling a little guilty as he stroked Isla’s cheeks and hands with his cold fingers until she woke. Isla frowned at him, thoroughly unimpressed by the disturbance to her nap. 

 

Her forehead creased, and her lower lip wobbled, tears threatening to spill from her blue eyes until Negan placed the teat of the bottle just within her reach. She immediately craned her head back and began guzzling down her meal in earnest. 

 

“Slow down sweetheart,” Smirking, Negan murmured in amusement at her, “you’ll fuckin’ choke if you’re not careful. Haven’t fuckin’ kept us both goin’ this long for some fuckin’ artificial dairy to take you out.”

 

“How come he doesn’t have to fuckin’ help with camp?” Tony grumbled from nearby, pointing an accusatory finger at Negan and Isla.

 

Negan simply rolled his eyes at him, and waited for Grant’s inevitably blase response to his juvenile complaining.

 

“He clearly has a job to do,” Eric growled at Tony, looking him up and down with a sneer, “unless you wanna feed the kid, and give him a break?”

 

Tony cast his eyes to the dirt and then back to Negan’s hunched over form as he tried to shield Isla from as much of the rain as he could while she ate her meal. The plump man did not respond, to which Grant finally spoke up.

 

“No response huh Tony? You won’t mind takin’ watch tonight then instead of Negan so he can look after the kid,” Grant chipped in, “nope didn’t think you would. Negan has the kid to take care of. Anyone has an issue you’re more than welcome to pick up the non-existent slack created by his presence.”

 

That night, curled up in the sleeping bag with Isla on his chest, Negan barely slept. He was hyper-aware of every noise around him. He tried hard to focus on Isla’s breathing. Soft, warm little puffs of air against his neck kept his gaze on her face. 

 

All bundled up against his chest, she seemed unfazed by being outside all day and night. The only times she fussed was if she didn’t get her food on schedule, which happened very rarely, and even then she barely whimpered.

 

“You’re my good girl, aren’t ya bug?” Negan murmured lowly, barely above a whisper, “Daddy’s fuckin’ got you baby.”

 

Isla stretched out, her knees pressing into his ribs as her face crumpled. 

 

Thinking she might begin to cry, Negan rubbed her back softly, praying she continued to stay quiet. Thankfully, Negan managed to soothe her back into a peaceful sleep quickly, allowing him to resume his watchful state on his surroundings.

 

It had to be after midnight, judging by the inky blackness of the sky above him, meaning it was Tony’s watch. He knew the fat fucker was sat on a log by the perimeter, chain smoking and most likely glaring every so often over at the man he despised and his daughter.

 

It was then that he heard the voices, hushed and low amongst the whistle of the cold breeze and rustling leaves overhead.

 

_ “He’s not expendable. Guy can hunt, and scavenge and take down a rotter with his eyes shut.” _

 

_ “That kid of his fucking is though. She cries at the wrong moment and we’re fucking as good as dead.” _

 

_ “What, so we take em out?”  _

 

_ “Not him. Just her. Make it look like a fucking accident. Get him to leave her with us or some shit. Leave her behind. It’ll be easy.” _ __   
  


Blood boiling, Negan kept his hands on Isla. No fucking way were these dipshits going to lay a single finger on his baby girl. He knew he had to be clever about this, or there was no doubt they would both be killed. However, there was no way that threat was going to fucking fly in any way. 

 

They were going to pay for even thinking about it.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go...  
> Please leave kudos and a comment if you can! It really helps me out.  
> Enjoy lovelies  
> xoxo

The days seemed to drag on forever while they were on the road. 

Seemingly never ending wind and rain, coupled with the adversity of lack of supplies caused the nomadic group to seek shelter until the worst of the weather passed.

After a few days, the bedraggled group of men, with the baby in tow, made it to a vacant cabin on top of a hill.It gave them a clear view of the surrounding fields and roads from the balcony on the second floor where someone would take watch every day and night. 

Everyone was assigned their own jobs and responsibilities, seemingly carrying on as usual, but Negan felt more on edge than ever.

After overhearing what he had that night in the forest, Negan found it difficult to hold himself back. Every time someone looked at him and Isla the wrong way, or a hushed conversation was held, he was ready to pounce. 

Tony often snidely commented on Negan’s jumpy nature, causing the already agitated man to growl low in his throat, knowing the sick fucker was the one behind the plan to kill an innocent child. 

Not just any child.  _His baby girl_. 

Every morning, after Isla’s first bottle, he ventured outside with the baby into the icy air to chop wood for the fireplace. 

The mundane task kept him out of the house, away from those who wanted to harm his baby, and kept his idle hands and mind busy. 

Isla peered up at him from her usual perch against his chest, big blue eyes wide and focused as he worked. She seemed to be awake for longer now, rather than napping constantly. 

Negan liked it, feeling like he had company.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he drawled breathlessly, tweaking her rosy cheek with his thumb and finger, “watchin’ daddy sweat his fuckin’ balls off out here huh?”

Isla gurgled in reply, head wobbling a little as she tried her best to support it independently.

Negan smiled at her and pulled her woolen hat further over her head, ensuring the tops of her tiny ears were shielded from the cold, “getting fuckin’ big and strong aren’t you bug? My little doll.”

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Negan continued chopping the logs into smaller kindling that he would be able to carry up to the house. His muscles ached, and his back throbbed in protest by the time he was done, and he trudged into the nearby shed to replace the axe he had used.

Hanging the sharp blade back on the wall, he surveyed the impressive but dusty collection of tools the former owner had collected. 

Everything from hatchets, to hammers, and spanners and pliers lined the walls. Negan presumed the guy or gal must’ve been some kind of carpenter from the abundance of wood and carving tools inside the shed.

Venturing further into the space, past a long abandoned workbench, he spotted a pile of boxes in the corner. Between the dust motes floating across the space, only visible through the bright sunlight flooding through the gaps in the panelling, Negan spotted a long handle protruding from the box closest to him. 

The varnish of the object caught the light, and Negan reached forward, wrapping his hand around the familiar object with ease. 

“Fuckity fucking fuck,” hefting it out of the box, Negan measured its weight in his hands, memories of playing baseball his whole life returning with sadness. 

The team he had coached had been the best in the school’s history, winning competition after competition and eventually placing impressively in national competition too. 

That was before Isla was born, and the world crumbled around them. 

He couldn’t bare thinking about the whereabouts of the gangly group of teens he had coached to success. 

They had all been good kids, with good prospects of scholarships to colleges that no longer existed. Negan felt guilty he had prepared them for a world that had gone up in flames, and now they were likely to be dead because of it.

Shaking the morbid thoughts from the forefront of his mind, Negan smirked as he took a swing into the void with the bat, enjoying the sturdiness and whoosh of it passing through the air. 

“ _Woooo_ , that baby’s got a fucking good swing to her,” Negan whistled, gripping the bat in his large hands.

It was then, that an idea crossed his mind. 

An idea, at first so worrying, that he fleetingly tried to push it back. 

The anger at the men conspiring to kill his precious baby girl flooded his veins once more, and his grip tightened on the handle, knuckles turning white.

_Fuckin’ fuckers think they can fucking threaten me?_

_How would they like it if I threatened them?_

_Maybe knock them about a bit._

_After all that shit is never going to fucking fly. Isla deserves more. Lucille deserves more._

_She’d fuckin’ want me to do this._

_To keep her safe. If she were here she’d be like a mother bear protecting her cub. Claws and teeth bared and ready to fight to the death._

_That’s my fuckin’ job now. I’m not going to let my girls down._

Negan exhaled sharply, peering down at Isla’s tiny face, “I love you bug. That’s why I’m fuckin’ doing this. For you. To keep you fuckin’ safe. Daddy’s not gonna let those fuckers lay a single greasy digit on you. I’m going to make sure of it.”

Isla continued to sleep peacefully, head turned towards the warmth of the strips of sunlight falling on her rosy cheeks as her daddy set aside his new weapon of choice by the door of the shed, just out of sight.

* * *

“It’s fuckin’ freezing in here, babysitter,” Tony grumbled, sitting as close to the dying embers of the fire as his fat ass could get, “ain’t it time for you to get more firewood?” 

Negan barely glanced over at his chubby form absorbing the little remaining heat from the fireplace. 

He focused on Isla’s tiny squirming form as he propped her forward into a sitting position against his palm, using his free hand to wind her patiently.

The baby wiggled uncomfortably, grunting as the wind bubbled inside of her until she let out a hearty burp. 

Negan rubbed her back for a little while more just to make sure before he lifted her before his face to kiss the tip of her nose.

“Time to get bundled up again, doll,” he murmured, nuzzling her nose with the tip of his, “daddy’s balls are frozen solid at this point now.”

Negan lay Isla down on the plush sofa they had been sleeping on. He changed her diaper, which was thankfully only wet, before dressing her in another warm sleepsuit. 

Isla frowned at him crossly as he maneuvered her limbs into her warm peacoat and slipped her hat on over her head once more. 

“Don’t look at daddy like that bug,”  he murmured with a low chuckle, “I know you fuckin’ hate being wrapped up but I’m not risking you gettin’ fucking sick again. You know how this shit works by now.”

Once he deemed her sufficiently bundled up, Negan slipped her into the trusty sling and put on his boots. 

Ensuring nobody was watching him, Negan shouldered his main backpack too. Large and bursting at the seams with essentials for himself and Isla, it was hardly discreet, but nobody paid him much attention early in the morning anyway.

The shed was still dark since the sun had yet to fully rise and bathe the hill in the usual morning sunlight. 

Squinting, Negan set the heavy camping backpack down beside the baseball bat in the corner, alongside which he had compiled a few other weapons he had his eye on. A sharp hatchet and a wood carving knife that he supposed might come in handy had joined his haul.

“Think we’re just about ready bug,” he said, stroking the back of Isla’s head with the palm of his hand once, as doubt crept into his mind about if he was doing the right thing for her.

He knew there was safety in numbers, but the threat to Isla by staying with the group was just too prevalent. Staying with people that wanted her dead just was not going to fucking fly.

Glancing down at the bat again, Negan ran his hand over his bearded chin. The thought of exacting violence was tempting, but he knew he’d never be able to take them all out without any of them retaliating and killing both he and Isla immediately.

It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take, but he would still take the sturdy, dangerous bat along for the ride, just in case.

To his surprise, Grant was leaning against the side of the shed when Negan came out with the axe to chop the wood in his hand. 

“Morning Grant,” the taller man said gruffly, securing the shed door with the dead bolt and trying not to make eye contact with the shifty fucker who had clearly followed him, “I’m just about to get the wood done for the fire. Did you want something?”

Grant shrugged and smiled at him. It unnerved Negan immensely. 

“A favour.”

“What favour?” Negan queried, turning to face Grant. 

 _Don’t fuckin’ turn your back on any of these assholes_. 

“There’s a big warehouse nearby that’s not been cleared yet. Need my best men to go scout it out and bring back the goods. But there’s a catch,” Grant spoke, standing upright and following the taller man over to the pile of logs waiting to be chopped.

“I can fuckin’ guess already,” Negan grumbled, hefting the first of the logs onto the platform.

Grant grunted, nodding his head, “place is full of Biters.”

Negan shrugged, “sorry, but I won’t take Isla somewhere like that. Too much of a risk to her.”

“The guys are I were talking and Eric offered to keep her while you go out,” Grant said, scratching his cheek, amazingly making eye contact with the man he was lying to, “he had kids before y’know.”

Negan’s heart plummeted into his stomach and he instinctively cupped the back of Isla’s head, smoothing down her soft curls. 

Not wanting to seem strangely protective, Negan gently shifted her tiny hat over the top of her ears.

This was it. 

They were beginning their plan to kill his baby girl and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

“I’ll have to think about it. I’ve never left her before,” Negan said through disguised gritted teeth, trying so hard to conceal his rage and resist swinging the axe into Grant’s scrawny neck. 

It would be so easy.

Grant held his hand up to appease the tall man, drawing Negan’s gaze from the pulse in his neck, “understandable. You just let us know your decision. It would be no trouble for Eric to have her though and she would be in safe hands.”

 _Fuckin’ lying scumbag_ , Negan growled lowly in his head, hoping Grant walked away soon so that he didn’t do something he’d regret. 

His long, calloused fingers tightened around the handle of the axe, twitching as Grant smiled at him. 

“Okay. Thanks,” Negan said shortly as Grant turned and began the trek back to the cabin. 

Negan watched until the leader’s hunched form had crossed the threshold back into the warmth of the cabin and shut the door behind him. 

With a shout, Negan swung the axe hard into the trunk, listening to the satisfying sound of it splitting beneath the blade.

“Fucking fuckity  _fuck_ darling. Looks like we’re outta here sooner than I thought,” Negan muttered, trying to steady his breathing while peering down at Isla, now wide awake and staring right at him, “we’re going on a road trip tonight baby girl. Buckle your fuckin’ seatbelt.”


	13. Thirteen

It was a quiet night. The wind had dropped, creating an eerie stillness across the hill and the cabin. Beneath the inky darkness, the cabin stood on the precipice, barely seen among the surrounding trees or from the pathway below.

 

A single leaf fell from the large oak tree in front of the house, floating a direct path to the lawn below before the tall figure of Negan, laden down with his pack. His form stayed closed to the side of the house, unsure of where Tony was sitting to take his shift on watch.

 

Negan knew he was the least observant and dillegent of the men in the group, and so had chose his shift to attempt his escape.

 

Grant had scheduled the run to the warehouse for the morning, leaving Negan with no choice but to sneak away that night. 

 

Nervously, he had bundled Isla up as discreetly as possible before bed before slipping beneath their sleeping bag at light’s out as usual. As always, nobody paid much attention to the pair, particularly at night when Negan tended to Isla, something which he was very grateful for.

 

It had been easy to get out of the house. Isla had been fast asleep in her sling, and therefore did not make a peep as he crept out with her. Under the cover of darkness, the pair made it to the shed by the tree-line, where Negan quietly checked his inventory once more. 

 

Negan layered on his leather jacket over the top of the thick sweater he wore, zipping it up around his baby as an extra layer of insulation for her. He didn’t know how long it would be before he would find shelter again, so he wanted to be sure she was warm.

 

Just as he shrugged the heavy camping backpack on, Isla’s eyes opened a little and she whimpered, fingers grasping at the thick fabric of his sweater. Negan took her tiny hand and placed it on the edge of his red scarf, allowing her to tangle her chubby little fingers amongst its folds.

 

“There we go Bug,” he whispered, pressing his chapped lips against her feather-soft forehead, “you need to sleep tight for daddy while I get us outta here. I need ya to be a real good girl, and stay nice and fuckin’ quiet. Like a mouse.”

 

Isla grunted back at him, and Negan took the little pink pacifier from his pocket, slipping it between her lips as added security. He needed to make sure nobody heard them. Isla suckled on the pacifier quickly, until her eyes slid shut, and the suckling slowed.

 

With one last glance around the shed, Negan slid the hatchet and knife into his belt, and picked up the hefty baseball bat. With the weight of it in his palm, he felt like he could take on the world, and every biter left in it.

 

Peering down at Isla again to ensure she was asleep, Negan took a deep breath. He then shut his eyes to compose himself, taking a deep breath of the cold air into his lungs.

 

“We’re gonna make it, Bug. I fuckin’ promise,” he said lowly, before slowly easing the rickety door of the shed open just enough for him to slip out. 

 

Immediately, there was a shout, and Negan heard the whoosh of a blade beside his head. Glancing to his right with wide eyes, he saw a knife embedded in the wooden post beside the door of the shed, mere centimetres from his temple.

 

Negan snarled and swung round to face his attacker, none too surprised to see it was Tony.

 

“And where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?” he sneered, yanking the knife from the wall of the shed and taking a step back from Negan. He momentarily eyed the dangerous looking baseball bat in Negan’s palm.

 

“Takin’ the little one to play ball huh?” Tony asked, smirking and playing with the tip of his knife between his fat, sweaty fingers.

 

“Fuckin’ somethin’ like that,” Negan responded, inching toward the smaller man just a little, “Let us fuckin’ past Tony or I swear to fucking God I’ll use the bat for somethin’ other than a fucking incredible home run.”

 

“Hmmm. I don’t think so,” Tony said casually, staring right at Negan with beady eyes that glinted even in the dark, “All you and that kid have done is take up resources and space. The other guys wanted to keep you but now you’re a traitor, I think they’d change their mind. Both of you have gotta go.”

 

“You really wanna fuckin’ kill my baby girl?” Negan growled, narrowing his eyes at Tony, “You fuckin’ come anywhere near her and I’ll make sure it’s fuckin’ painful. I’ll do it nice and fucking slow. Maybe cut a few bits off you first. Lord knows you could do with losin’ the fuckin’ weight.”

 

Before he could react, Tony lunged towards the pair, knife aimed at Negan’s chest, directly where Isla was sleeping. Stumbling backward to avoid the attack, Negan caught the blade with his left hand, grunting in pain as it sliced through the tender skin of his palm like it were butter.

 

The pain was immediate, and Negan growled in response, not wanting to give Tony the satisfaction of knowing that he’d caused him pain.

“Not my baby girl you fuckin’ sick fuck,” he grunted, thrusting the end of the bat into Tony’s sternum. With a choked sound, Tony released the knife and fell backward, the momentum of his overweight body sending him onto his ass.

 

Now unarmed, the small man cowered, trying to curl around himself. Negan growled, ignoring the pain in his hand as he wielded the bat and held it over his shoulder.

 

He had fucking asked for it.

 

“I-it wasn’t my idea. I-I s-swear,” Tony simpered, staring up at the furious figure above him.

 

Negan shook his head, baring his teeth as he spoke like a feral animal, “I fuckin’ heard it all you lying fucking asshole. Every fuckin’ scheming sick word. And you just tried to stab my baby in her sleep. That fucking shit is not going to fly. You should’ve just let us go.”

 

With a smirk, Negan brought the bat over his shoulder, and with all the strength he could muster, brought it back down onto Tony’s head. 

 

It didn’t take long before the man’s noises and desperate pleas were silenced, and his head was reduced to nothing more than skull and brain matter scattered across the luscious grass.

 

Negan grunted with every swing he took down onto Tony’s skull, despite the ache in his shoulders and arms. The fresh blood from his own wound dripped down the handle of the bat to mingle with the blood of his victim.

 

Feeling his shoulder and bleeding hand throb in protest he relented finally, peering down at the mangled body at his feet.

 

The chaos he’d caused hit him like a tonne of bricks, almost bringing him to his knees. He peered down at the tiny bundle of innocence on his chest, cradling her protectively to shield her from the atrocity that he’d committed.

 

“ _ Fuck _ ...fuck...fuck…” he panted, trying to compose himself while staring up at the inky sky. 

 

Quickly glancing round to check that the sound hadn’t attracted unwanted attention from the living or the dead, he managed to slow his own breathing. He reached into his pocket, and found an old receipt from a long-gone grocery store, ink faded and crumpled. 

 

Without a second thought, Negan scrawled the message crudely with his bloodied finger tip, until he was satisfied with the gory result. He crouched down beside Tony’s body and tucked the piece of paper into his blood soaked collar.

 

_ Follow us and end up like Red - N _

 

“Let’s go,” he breathed, putting the bat still dripping with viscera back over his shoulder, “let’s get the fuck outta here baby girl.”


	14. Fourteen

Beneath the shade of a tree, the pair sat, shielded from the blistering sun filtering between the leaves.

 

The man, bedraggled, exhausted and dirty, crushed some soft apple in a bag with a rock, before using a tiny plastic spoon to scoop a small amount of the crudely made purée back out again.

 

On the knee of his long legs sat a chubby baby dressed in a pink romper, her legs kicking against his thighs and pouted lips smacking at the prospect of her meal.

 

“Here we fuckin’ go, Bug. Ready?” Negan queried with a weak grin amongst his beard.

The baby giggled and placed her hands atop the floral sun hat covering her fair skin and dark hair, opening up her mouth.

 

Negan laughed at her antics, shovelling the purée between her lips. She sloppily chewed it between her gums before swallowing it down and opening her mouth for more.

 

“You want more baby girl?” Negan asked, scooping more of the sweet, translucent yellow purée onto the spoon with his own trembling hands.

 

Before long the baby’s breakfast was gone, and Negan inhaled the last quarter of a stale granola bar to try and lessen the gnawing agony in his tummy.

 

The little weight he had put on when living with Velma and Morty had dissipated since being on the road again and he felt like nothing but skin and fucking bones beneath his flimsy t-shirt and jeans. In his mind, the only thing that mattered was that Isla was healthy, which she was, and she never seemed to be hungry either.

 

However, the starvation was becoming worrying, as he often felt dizzy, tired most of the time and weaker than he ever had before.

 

Isla reached a tiny hand up and pressed her fingers into Negan’s thick, greying beard, grinning at him as she curled her fingers into the coarse hair.

 

“What ya grinnin’ for Bug?” he asked, before moving his lips to playfully chew at her fingers. The baby squealed with laughter, moving her hand away briefly before repeating the action to continue the silly little game.

 

Negan loved that about her. She never tired of him, or their repetitive, mundane routine. The little things pleased her, such as pureed apple in the sunshine, and simple games of peek-a-boo when they took a moment to rest.

 

Once the sun drifted slightly lower into the sky, Negan stood, slipped Isla into the sling around his chest, put his leather jacket on and shouldered their large camping backpack.

 

Isla frowned at him when Negan insisted she wore her sunhat. He didn’t have any kind of sun lotion to apply to her porcelain skin, so he did everything he could to ensure he kept her out of the blistering heat in the middle of the day, and keep her shielded when they moved.

 

“I know ya hate it, baby girl, but daddy’s gotta make sure ya don’t end up looking like a little lobster,” Negan murmured, fastening the little ribbon beneath her chin to keep the sunhat on her head. Isla’s lower lip wobbled until Negan stroked the back of her head and gave her the beloved soft bunny to snuggle with.

 

“Gotta keep movin’ bug,” he said softly, before peering back at the road and setting off once more.

 

* * *

 

With trembling hands Negan lifted the metal flask to his lips, praying that there was still a drop of moisture left inside.

 

Finding water was near impossible with the heat drying the rivers, and no rainfall for weeks. He couldn’t recall the last time he had tasted water or any decent nutrients beyond small plants and the crumbs of granola in the bottom of his bag.

 

Negan’s once hulking, muscular form was no more. His arms and legs were nothing but skin and minimal flesh beneath it to protect the bone, and his stomach had distended uncomfortably, as if begging to be filled.

 

He had been unwilling to eat the small amount of fruit he had for Isla, always prioritising her needs before his own. The baby girl would never know the pain of a constantly empty stomach or atrophying muscles.

 

He pressed his dried, cracked lips to the rim of the flask and swore when nothing but warm air brushed over them. In fury he threw the useless object to the floor, and his aching knees gave way too.

 

Kneeling in the forest mulch, his body too tired to even stand again, Negan kissed his baby’s head.

 

He couldn’t believe that this would be how he left her. Strapped to his chest securely, but with nobody to care for her. No doubt she would soon succumb to starvation too, a thought that made his heart ache and tears flow freely down his pale cheeks.

 

“I’m so so sorry bug,” he whimpered, leaning back weakly against the rough bark of a tree. At least the sun wouldn’t burn her porcelain skin beneath the shade of the big green leaves.

 

Even lifting his fingers to caress her cheeks hurt, his weakened muscles screaming out in protest. He felt like a car running out of gas - ready to break down and be scrapped any moment.

 

He could only pray that being a biter himself would stop the others mauling his baby girl to death, allowing her to pass peacefully in her sleep by her daddy’s still heart.

 

Sobbing, he took a length of rope from his pocket and with his remaining strength he tied his wrists together tightly, so he would not be able to grab at Isla after his death. He would not let her feel the pain of such a horrific death.

“I’m doing this for you baby girl. Daddy’s always here,” he murmured, resting his head back against the rough bark of the tree and closing his eyes, succumbing to the darkness and pain flooding his body.

 

Through the haze of the darkness, he heard voices and hands grabbing at his exhausted limbs, and yet there was no pain. Nobody was feasting on his flesh, and he was damn sure biters could not talk.

 

The male voices were calling out to him, and as much as he wanted to respond, he could only lightly contract the muscles in his fingers in a silent plea to them to not hurt his baby.

 

With all of his remaining strength, he managed to choke out a raspy final word that he was certain came out no louder than a whisper.

 

_“Isla…”_

_He’s alive! We need to get him back to the factory!_


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going MIA guys! I've had a ridiculous amount of life stuff going on lately.  
> Please let me know your thoughts and feelings on this chapter (please don't hate me)!  
> xoxo

**Fifteen**

 

_“You fucking asshole!”_

 

_Negan blinked, muscles tense from launching the vase that now lay scattered across the floor, along with water and broken, limp blossoms. Lucille’s reaction momentarily made him think that the vase had hit her somehow, though he was certain it hadn’t._

 

_Her sobs echoed through the room as she knelt down gingerly on the wooden floor, her frame draped in her silky robe. Maneuvering around her big, rounded belly, she stooped down to the gather the larger pieces of porcelain in her shaky hands._

 

_Eventually, she huffed, settling on her knees and stared at the ceiling. All the while she cradled her swollen belly, drawing Negan’s gaze to it._

 

_Gradually her tears dried, and that’s when Negan knew he was in trouble._

 

_Beneath her piercing stare, Negan sobered quickly and bowed his head in shame._

 

**_What kind of fucking fuckwit throws a vase in the same room as his pregnant wife?_ **

 

_“You think this kind of shit is gonna happen once she’s born Negan? I won’t have this fucking bullshit happening around her. I refuse to have her daddy out at bars every night and stumbling home reeking of cigarettes and cheap whores,” Lucille ground out from between her teeth._

 

_And he had never felt more infuriated by her, or proud of her at the same time. However, with the drunken fog in his brain, fury won._

 

_“Fuck this! You think I’m gonna be such a fucking shitty father then fucking leave! Go the fuck on! Fucking walk away!” he roared, before immediately regretting his words._

 

**_Fuck! What if she actually does? What if she takes her away from me?_ **

 

_Lucille’s eyes flashed in the low light, though she spoke calmly, “I fucking love you, you asshole, but so help me God, if you don’t do everything to love and protect this little girl and be in her life everyday, I will walk away. Don’t you dare fucking push me Negan.”_

 

_Negan breathed heavily, “Lu...baby I’m-”_

 

_He froze as his wife struggled to her feet suddenly and snatched the ultrasound scan off the small coffee table._

 

**_Shit, the scan was today._ **

 

_She threw it at him, and it fluttered to the floor at his feet, landing so it faced him. He stared down at the greyscale image, amazed by how different the baby looked this time round._

 

_Instead of a little bean shape in a large dark void, there was now distinguishable features, even from a distance and the baby took up most of the photograph._

 

_He could see a perfectly formed profile, complete with tiny button nose and pouty lips. A little blurred hand with five fingers was held just above the baby’s curved tummy and her legs were tucked inward, little feet kicked out._

 

_She was perfect, and so beautiful._

 

_The sight of his unborn little girl sent a shot of guilt straight through his heart, both for her and her mother for having to tolerate him._

 

_Lucille’s strained voice caught his attention and he looked up at her._

 

_“You better fucking clear up that vase so I don’t cut my feet in the morning.”_

* * *

 

The pain in his stomach overwhelmed him, pulling and yanking him in and out of consciousness. He lay flat on his back, focused on the grey concrete ceiling. The springs in the mattress dug into his back, but the idea of moving and bringing more pain upon himself had his stomach rolling.

 

_Where the fuck am I…_

 

“Morning sunshine,” a gruff voice spoke from his bedside, and Negan slowly craned his neck round, wincing at the shooting pains through his torso.

 

“What the _fuck?”_ Negan rasped, eyes drifting over the man’s stocky build. It was rare to see a well-fed human, particularly one casually flipping through an old Playboy spread like he wasn’t armed with a machine gun and a razor sharp blade at his hip. The metal frame of the chair creaked under the man’s weight as he stretched, yawned like a lazy cat and dropped the magazine to the floor unceremoniously.

 

“You’ve been out for ‘bout twelve hours man,” the man rasped, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. Negan couldn’t help but notice the scar trailing along the man’s jawline, as if somebody had tried to peel his face off, the thought of which made his stomach roll again.

 

The crook of his elbow ached, and when he tried to bend it a sharp pinch made him hiss. He tilted his chin down, only to see an IV line attached to his arm. It was clean, and wrapped properly, with an apparently clean tube leading to a bag of fluids above the bed. Negan could only hope the fuckers weren’t drugging him.

 

“W-wait. Isla. My baby girl. Wh-where is she?” Negan spoke with a rasp in his throat, sitting bolt upright in bed despite the pain in his abdomen. The IV line yanked from his arm, sending a spray of blood from the crook of his elbow that stained his white t-shirt and the grey sheets.

 

“A baby?” the guard frowned, his dark brow furrowing, “weren’t no baby with you man when they found ya.”

 

Heart pounding, Negan scoured the man’s face for a sign that he was bluffing, however there was none. The guard seemed genuinely confused at the mention of Isla, something which did not comfort Negan in the slightest.

 

Never had he felt pain or panic like it. Not even when he lost Lucille at the very beginning. The thought of Isla being taken from his arms whilst he was unconscious, someone harming her or the undead feasting on her porcelain flesh was enough to make him vomit.

 

Negan grunted, expelling stomach acid over the edge of the bed onto the concrete floor, sobbing harder than he ever had in his life. The excruciating pain in his stomach as he threw up what little was in there was nothing compared to that in his heart.

 

He lost her. He failed.

 

“No-no-no,” he wept, still half hanging off the bed. His body was clammy, and he was sure this was what shock felt like.

 

The guard pressed himself back against the wall, unnerved by the man’s erratic reaction, “you had baby stuff with ya, but that carrier thing on your chest was empty. We figured any baby was long gone. She’ll be walker-chow by now man.”

 

Negan growled, lunging from the bed with a surprising jolt of strength. Before the guard could react, Negan wrapped his bony fingers around the man’s neck, holding his much bigger body against the wall. The rage and grief within him was giving him the strength he needed to pin the man down.

 

Tears coursing down his cheeks, Negan debated crushing the man’s windpipe. It’d be all too easy. A little more pressure from his thumbs and that’d be it.

 

But it would never bring her back.

 

Nothing he did now would ever bring his girls back.

 

Letting out a final guttural sob, Negan dropped to his knees.

 

He faintly heard the guard swear and gruffly say he was going to “grab the doc” before the big door to the room slammed shut with a metallic clang.

 

Images of chubby cheeks, dark curls and big blue eyes flashed in front of him like a projector reel, forcing almost inhuman sobs from his throbbing chest.

 

He didn’t hear anybody come into the room, but someone hauled him up onto the bed and quietly hooked him back up to the IV line. Negan didn’t even flinch.

 

“Stay in bed. You were severely dehydrated when we found you. You can’t eat much right now either because of the severity of your malnourishment. Your body would become overwhelmed and go into shock if you ate too much right away,” the tall skinny man with balding hair said firmly. Negan guessed he was the “Doc” the guard had referred to.

 

“Your wrists look sore,” he pointed out, inspecting the lesions and bruising around Negan’s wrists from the rope, “why were they tied?”

 

Tears fell from Negan’s eyes again and he bowed his head, “to fuckin’ keep her safe. Everything I did was to keep her safe. Now she’s gone. Just kill me Doc. Just let me die.”

 

“Can’t do that I’m afraid son. Took an oath a long time before the world fell apart and I don’t plan on going against that promise now,” he murmured, perching on the edge of the bed slowly, “you can have a home here. A future. We’ve all lost people here.”

 

“I want her back,” he sobbed, “I can’t have lost her. Fuck...no.”

 

Negan felt the doctor fiddle with the IV for a moment, though he didn’t look up to see exactly what he was putting into his bloodstream. In all honesty he didn’t really care.

 

“I’m giving you something to help you sleep. You need more rest,” Doc said slowly, “just relax.”

 

Negan grunted in reply, feeling overwhelmingly sleepy all of a sudden.

 

Before he knew it, he was out like a light and on his way to painful dreams of his dark haired, blue eyed girls telling him that everything was going to be okay.


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!  
> Again, apologies for such a long wait for this chapter. I’ve been mega busy. Turns out, I actually got accepted to university for September to begin my degree to become a teacher! There’s been a tonne to sort out for that, plus ongoing health issues.
> 
> Excuses aside, I really hope you all enjoy this chapter.   
> Please please let me know your thoughts, leave kudos and comment if you can.  
> xoxo

Negan ambled behind the tall, scrawny man with long scraggly hair and torn clothing, barely looking up from the floor. He was supposed to be on some kind of “tour” of his new home, but all he saw so far had been concrete floors, and sad faces mirroring the desolation in his soul.

 

“So...the place needs a bit of a makeover for sure...”

“Fucking say that again,” Negan frowned, peering over at the supposed ‘homes’ of the residents there. 

A young woman with four young children huddled together on the floor behind a tattered fabric makeshift wall. They all sat on a single threadbare mattress, filthy and malnourished. Other families were set up in the same way, with no dignity, no privacy and very few belongings. They hardly seemed like people at all, but rather the shells of them, simply biding their time.

_ He would have loved to see Isla crawling through the big spaces, showing a gummy dimpled smile to give the miserable souls some hope. _

“This is the cafeteria,” the man continued round the corner and Negan followed, seeing little more than a few cracked tables and rickety dining chairs to supposedly house hundreds of people for their meals. Before, he’d be furious on their behalf, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Uh-huh,” he grunted, slowly scanning the sparsely furnished space. He doubted they even had enough food to go round, let alone call this place a ‘cafeteria’.

More grey walls and empty rooms followed, the sound of Negan and his guide’s footsteps echoing through the halls.

_ Her giggles would’ve echoed off the walls and cavernous ceilings, brightening the days of everyone around them.  _

If it were up to him, he’d still be in his dark little room on the lumpy bed, in a deep, sedative-induced sleep. Instead, Doc ordered him to get out of bed and stretch his legs after a week of lying down. Negan adamantly refused until Doc told him a fucking grisly tale about bed sores. Negan certainly had no interest in experiencing painful, weeping blisters on his ass any time soon.

_ But those giggles were silenced, and those dimples lost.  _

_ And it was all his fuckin’ fault. All the light the world needed snuffed out by his own ego. Thinking he was enough of a man to protect her on his own...and now she’s gone... _

“So, um...that’s the place I guess,” the tall man grunted with pitiful frown on his thin, chapped lips, “When you’re back on your feet someone’ll give you somewhere to sleep though since you’re on your own it might be with others.”

_ On your own… _

_ He was on his own now. No Lucille. No Isla. No Morty or Velma.  _

_ What was the point without other people to drag him through the shitty days and lonely nights? Without the warmth of Lucille’s kisses, or the sweet smell Isla always carried in her hair, it all seemed pointless.  _

“Want me to take ya back up to the hospital?” the stranger, who still hadn’t introduced himself, asked. He stared unashamedly at Negan, concerned by the blank expression he wore. 

Usually newbies seemed grateful to be away from the snapping jaws and grabbing hands of the biters outside. Despite the factory lacking warmth and comfort (among many other things), many considered it at least a little better than being on the other side of the fence.

Negan shook his head, and the next time he looked up from the concrete, the man was gone.

Afraid Negan was going to off himself, Doc kept a constant eye on him. For the first time in a week, Negan didn’t feel like someone was staring at him, just waiting for him to act erratically. 

The thought of suicide passed fleetingly through his mind as his feet carried him back down the hall toward the living quarter. It would be all too easy now he was alone, but they had stripped his weapons from him. Yet, there was always the roof…

“Hey!”

Negan stopped in his tracks at the sound of a hissed greeting. A round face poked from between two navy bed sheets hung from the ceiling. The warm brown eyes of the young man looking at him held no malice, yet Negan was still hesitant.

“You new?” the young man queried, pulling back the navy sheet and stepping out of his little cubby. He wasn’t tall, nor muscular, but he looked like he was fast. Speed was sometimes more advantageous than strength.

Negan nodded, neck aching with the small movement.

The boy grinned and outstretched a bony arm, “I’m Kyle.”

“Yeah I don’t fucking care what your name is. Fuck, you’re only gonna go down a biter’s fucking throat and out it’s ass soon enough.”

Kyle smirked, “you’ve seen ‘em shit?”

“No but I’ve seen ‘em tear better men than you apart so watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

Kyle dropped his hand and his smirk fell just as quickly. Unwilling to talk anymore, Negan turned and stalked away. 

The jarring sound of a baby’s cries almost brought him to his knees, and Negan clamped his hands over his ears. 

Either he was going fuckin’ crazy, or there really was a baby there who sounded just like Isla when she cried.

Sure, most babies sounded the same, but  _ her  _ cries always brought an ache to his heart. They always made him feel guilty for not feeding her faster, or picking her up right away when she woke in the morning. 

Desperate to get out of earshot before the pain could overwhelm him, he took off running back in the direction of the hospital where the safety of his little room waited for him. Back there he could lock the door and beg Doc for some drugs to help him sleep.

“She’s a pretty little thing,” he heard a woman coo softly over the progressively worsening cries of the infant, “such a shame she was all alone out there.”   
  


“Poor little lamb. She sure is a lovely little girl though - just look at those curls!” another woman marvelled excitedly, “she’s got the most beautiful baby blues too!”

“Gosh, she just hasn’t stopped crying since she got here.”

“How long’s it been? Have they found her parents?”

“It’s  been a week or so. No, no sign at all. Poor kid is probably an orphan now. My mama is happy to take her if nobody shows up. That’s looking more and more likely.”

Negan stopped in his tracks.  _ It fuckin’ can’t be… _

Heart pounding, his eyes searched the room, quickly finding the gaggle of young women sat round one of the only tables in the room. In the centre, a young mousy brunette was holding a squirming, red faced baby on her lap.

Big, teary blue eyes were searching the room, and that dark curly hair was completely unmistakable. As was the tatty stuffed bunny clutched in her chubby hands.

Negan took off running toward the women, tears unashamedly dripping off his face. He was sure he practically bowled some of them over as he reached the table and snatched Isla from the girl’s arms.

“My baby girl,” he sobbed, holding his little girl close as they both wept.

Isla’s chubby fingers found the scruff of his neck and jaw, still sniffling and crying at the top of her lungs. She was filthy, but otherwise unharmed, and that was all that mattered to Negan.

“Um...I’m guessing you’re her daddy,” one of the women said with a smirk at the stranger. 

Based on the emotional reunion, there was no denying that the ragged, undernourished man was the anonymous baby girl’s father.

Negan nodded frantically, pushing Isla’s curls away from her forehead and kissing her soft skin. She still smelled the same, and felt the same in his arms. Never had he thought he’d ever get to hold her again.

“She’s mine. Jesus fuckin’ christ Bug, where did ya go?” Negan panted tearfully, his damp forehead resting against Isla’s.

When her big blue eyes finally focused on his gaze, Isla calmed a little, recognising who she was with for the first time in a week. She whimpered and snuggled into him, head buried in the crook of her daddy’s neck. 

In Negan’s mind it was her way of saying sorry, and how much she missed him too.

 

“Shhhhh. It’s all gonna be alright now. Daddy’s here baby. Daddy’s got you.”


End file.
